E.  PRICE,  150  South  Third  Street,  Philadelphia 


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MR.  AND  MRS. 

BAHNEY  WILLIAMS' 

jjrisl)  Bog  cmfr  fjatxkcc  ^M 
SONGSTEE, 

C  ONTAINING 

A  SELECTION  OF  SONGS  AS  SUNG  BY  THOSE 
TWO  ARTISTS 

THROUGHOUT 

ENGLAND,  IRELAND,  SCOTLAND  AND  WALES, 

AND  BEFORE  THE  CROWNED  HEADS  OF  EUROPE, 
AND  IN  ALL  THE 

PRINCIPAL   THEATRES  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 
WITH  GREAT  SUCCESS. 


PHILADELPHIA : 

ROBERT  F.  SIMPSON,  268  South  Twentieth  St., 
above  Spruce. 

I860. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year 
1860,  by 

ROBERT     F.     SIMPSON, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United 
States,  for  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


THE  THEATRICAL  CAREER 

OF 

MK.    BARIHEY    WILLIAMS. 


With  the  exception,  perhaps,  of  the  late  lamented 
Tyrone  Power,  no  representative  of  Irish  character  has 
enjoyed  so  long,  so  successful  a  popularity,  as  Mr, 
Barney  Williams.  Throughout  the  wide  and  vast  the- 
atrical circuit  of  the  United  States,  the  Canadas,  and  the 
three  Kingdoms  of  Great  Britain,  he  has  never  failed  to 
attract  crowded  audiences,  and  elicit  the  most  unanimous 
manifestations  of  approbation  and  delight,  and  his  name 
is  a  trump  card  to  any  manager  and  any  locality  wher- 
ever it  illuminates  a  play  bill. 

It  not  only  affords  ample  evidence  of  the  versatility  of 
his  genius,  but  it  is  likewise  an  honorable  proof  that  im- 
pelled by  the  forces  of  talent,  laudable  ambition,  and 
perseverance,  he  has  been  emphatically  the  artificer  op 
his  own  fortune.  There  is  much  truth  in  the  good 
old  couplet,  which  runs :  — 

"  Knowledge  and  fame  are  gained  not  by  surprise, 
He  that  would  win,  must  labor  for  the  prize." 

The  force  of  which  is  fully  exemplified  in  the  career  and 
ultimate  success  of  Mr.  Williams,  who,  from  the  humble 
position  in  the  theatre  of  a  "  utility"  boy,  for  he  began 
to  be  an  actor  long  before  he  had  attained  his  majority, 
he  has  manfully  worked  himself  from  the  foot  of  the 
ladder  to 

"  The  topmost  round  of  sovereignty" 
in  his  line.  If  there  existed  any  doubt  whatever  in  the  minds 
of  our  American  critics  as  to  the  truth  and  correctness 
of  his  delineations  of  Irish  character,  brogue,  bulls, 
heart  and  humor,  they  must  all  have  been  thoroughly 
dissipated  by  his  triumphs  in  Ould  Ireland,  and  before 
Irishmen  themselves,  who  at  least  ought  to  be,  and 
doubtless  are,  the  best  judges  of  their  own  character, 
and  who  have  hailed  his  mirror  of  their  own  eccen- 
tricities with  shouts  of  applause,  and  stamped  them 
with  the  seal  of  their  universal  approbation. 

l*  5 


6         THEATRICAL  CAREER  OF  BARNEY  WILLIAMS. 

The  humble  and  youthful  entree  of  Mr.  Williams  into 
the  profession  as  an  actor-of-all-work,  has  had  the  effect 
with  him,  as  it  has  with  many  other  celebrities,  viz  :  that 
of  making  him  a  thorough  master  of  his  art  and  a 
perfect  stage  tactician — inasmuch  as  it  has  not  only  en- 
abled him  to  portray  with  greater  ease  and  effect  the 
leading  Irish  characters  which  he  subsequently  assumed, 
out  it  also  rendered  him  capable,  an  indispensable  re- 
quisite in  a  star  performer,  to  direct  the  action  and 
"  business  ■  of  his  own  plays,  and  initiate  the  different 
actors  in  the  peculiar  minutite  of  their  parts,  as  con- 
trasted with  his  own,  and  thereby  enhance  the  general 
effect  in  representation. 

We  believe  the  city  of  Philadelphia  has  the  credit  of 
being  the  scene  of  Barney  Williams'  first  effort  and 
triumph  in  an  Irish  character.  Some  years  ago  there 
was  produced,  at  the  Arch  Street  Theatre,  a  burlesque 
upon  the  popular  comedy  of  "  London  Assurance"  and 
entitled  "Philadelphia  Assurance,"  in  which  the  part 
of  Mark  Meddle,  in  the  original  play,  was  twisted  into 
a  country  Irish  pettifogger.  This  part  was  given  to 
Barney  Williams,  and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that  there 
were  several  performers  of  great  popularity  and  high  pro- 
fessional standing  in  the  piece,  amongst  whom  we  may 
mention  the  gifted  Ann  Sefton,now  Mrs.  J.  W.  Wallack, 
and  others,  yet  so  excessively  humorous  and  convulsing 
was  Barney's  portraiture  of  the  Irish  pettifogger,  that  he 
was  the  main  feature  in  the  dramatis  persons,  prolonging 
its  run  for  many  weeks  with  the  richness  of  his  brogue,  and 
mischievous  fun,  in  consequence  of  which,  he,  with  "  an 
horse,"  but  not  of  the  Bucephalean  muscle,  which  he 
rode  in  the  Burlesque,  were  engaged  with  the  piece  for 
the  New  York  Theatre.  Unfortunately  the  poor  horse 
died  on  the  passage  to  Gotham,  in  the  sun  of  fame  which 
Barney  had  cast  over  him — but  Barney  lived,  and  we 
are  proud  to  write,  still  lives — to  enjoy  that  fame  and 
fortune,  which  his  own  toil  and  talents  have  justly 
earned  him. 


MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS'  ' 

M«i  SONGSTER. 


Barney  Williams'    Seven    "Ag-es   of 
an  Irishman." 

Tune — "  Donney  Brook  Fair." 
If  my  own  botheration  don't  alter  my  plan, 
Sirs,  I'll  sing  seven  terms  of  a  bould  Irishman, 

Wrote  by  one   Billy   Shakspeare,  of  Ballyporeen. 
He  said,  while  a  babe,  I  loved  whisky  and  pap, 
That  I  mewed  and  I  puked  in  my  grandmother's  lap. 
When  she  joulted  me   hard,  jist  to  hush  my  swat^ 

roar, 
I  slipt  through  her  fingers,  whack  down  on  the  floor. 

And  a  squalling  I  made,  sure,  at  Ballyporeen. 

When  I  grew  up  a  boy,  with  a  nice  shining  face, 
With  a  bag  at  my  back,  and  a  snail  crawling  pace, 

Went  to  school  to  ould  Darnly  at  Ballyporeen. 
His  look  was  so  owlish,  his  rod  was  my  dread, 
That  he  learning  bate  out,  'stead  of  into  my  head. 
"  Master  McShane,"   said  he,   "  you're  a  dull,  dirty 

dolt, 
You've  got  no  more  brains  than  a  Kilkenny  colt, 

You're  not  nt  for  our  college  at  Ballyporeen." 

Next  lover  I  turned,  with  a  song  long  and  strong, 
Made  to  the  eye-lashes  of  Judy  McClung, 

A  fair  foul  deceiver  at  Ballyporeen. 
She  called  in  the  neighbors,  I  called  in  the  priest, 
Of  pratees  and  whisky  I  had  a  big  feast; 
But  her  swateheart  came  back,  who  had  been  a  year 

dead, 
And  let  his  shillelah  fall  whack  on  my  head, 

And  knocked  all  my  hopes  down  at  Ballyporeen. 

7 


S  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

I  next  turned  a  soldier,  I  didn't  like  that, 
I  then  turned  a  servant  to  great  justice  Pat, 

A  big  dealer  in  pratees  at  Ballyporeen. 
With  venison  and  turtle  he  lined  his  insides, 
On  so  many  nick-nacks  he  lived  till  he  died. 
So  great  was  my  grief,  to  keep  spirits  up, 
Of  his  good  fourth  proof  whisky  I  took  a  big  sup> 

To  my  master's  safe  journey  from  Ballyporeen. 

Now  kicked  and  tossed  round  like  a  weathercock 
vane, 

To  my  grandfather's  cabin  I  came  back  again, 

Who  squeaked,   "Pat,  you're  welcome  to  Ballypo- 
reen." 

When  I  found  him,  poor  soul,  he'd  ao  legs  for  his 
hose, 

Nor  eyes  for  the  spectacles  put  on  his  nose, 

Wid  no  teeth  in  his  mouth,  so  death  corked  up  his 
chin ; 

He  slipt  out  of  his  slippers,  and  faith  I  slipt  in, 
The  heir  to  his  guineas  at  Ballyporeen. 


THE  WIFE  THAT  CAHPT  BE  BEAT* 

But  three  months  yet  I've  been  a  wife, 

My  spouse  already  shows  bis  airs  ; 
I  wish  Fd  lived  a  single  life, 

But  as  I  do  not,  why,  who  cares  ! 
Besides,  let  husband  use  his  tongue, 

And  scold,  and  sulk,  and  cock  his  hat? 
He'll  quickly  find  I'm  not  so  young, 

And  one  who  can't  be  beat  at  that. 

I'll  go  to  operas,  balls  and  plays, 

Or  where  I  will,  and  wont  be  checked  ; 

I'll  keep  it  up  both  night  and  day, 
Until  he  treats  me  with  respect. 


IRISH  SONGSTER. 

And  if  ha  flirts  with — I  know  who, 
Perhaps  he'il  meet  with  tit-for-tat, 

For  I  can  show  he'll  find  it  true, 
I'm  one  who  can't  be  beat  at  that. 

But  thisj  vow  :  If  he'll  be  good, 

And  sometimes  let  me  have  my  way, 
(Young  wives,  you  know,  all  think  they  should,) 

And  I  will  serve  him  night  and  day, 
And  never — oh,  no,  never  rove, 

But  stay  at  home  with  him  and  chat, 
And  by  true  kindness  I  will  prove 

I'm  one  who  can't  be  beat  at  that. 


IRISH  EATE  OF  CALIFORNIA, 

OR    THE    IRISH    GOLD    DIGGER. 

Air — "  Nor  ah  Creanah." 

By  lovely  Sacramento's  side, 

I  spied  a  rose  without  a  thorn,  aye, 

She  was  called  the  valley's  pride, 
sAnd  Irish  Kate,  of  Californy. 

She  was  a  laundress,  nate  and  smart, 

And  washed  for  gold  dust,  in  the  wather^ 

She  washed  my  linen,  wid  my  heart, 
The  very  first  bright  I  caught. 

CHORUS. 

On  the  Sacramento's  side, 

By  the  bushes  wild  and  thorny, 

Where  wid  her  eyes  the  clothes  she  dried, 
This  charming  Kate,  of  Californy. 

My  diggings  they  were  nigh  her  ground  ; 

I  washed  my  sand,  she  washed  my  linen  ; 
The  more  I  dug  the  less  I  found, 

And  to  give  out,  I  was  beginnen. 
With  diggings  wet,  and  pockets  dirthy, 

I  at  my  luck  began  to  mourn,  aye, 


10  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

I  ran  my  washing  bill  quite  high 
In  debt  to  Kate,  of  Californy. 

On  the  Sacramento's  side, 
By  the  bushes,  &c. 

One  day  when  I  went  for  my  duds, 

Widout  a  dime  of  dust  to  give  her, 
She  looked  just  like  a  saint  in  suds,. 

I  felt  just  like  a  sheep  in  shivers. 
Says  she,  "Dear  Paddy,  don't  you  fret, 

But  be  a  man  like  her  that  bore  ye  ; 
And  if  you'll  take  me  for  your  debt, 

I'll  wed  you  here  in  Californy. " 

Spoken. — "Och,"  said  I,  uby  the  birth  of  swate 
Bibby  Vanus,"  when  she  rose  out  of  the  soap  suds 
of  the  sea,  and  wid  her  splash  did  fill  my  greasy 
eyes  wid  the  everlasting  green  of  Irish  verdure." 

**  Troth,"  said  she,  *<  Paddy,  you  purty,  but  un- 
lucky divil,  don't  be  puttin'  your  soft  soap  at  me, 
but  is  it  a  bargain,  between  the  washerwoman  and 
the  diggerman ?"  Said  I,  "It  is,  jewel ;  here's  the 
ratification  kiss,  for  there's  no  gold  in  the  diggins 
like  your  own  swate  self." 

(Sings)  On  the  Sacramento's  side, 

By  the  bushes  wild  and  thorny, 
Where  she  soon  was  made  my  bride, 
This  charming  Kate,  of  Californy. 


THE  TICKWSlfe. 

There  was  a  young  man,  as  I've  heard  say, 
That  tickled  everything  that  came  in  his  way, 

With  his  high  fol  de  de  de* 

He  tickled  his  father,  he  tickled  his  mother, 
He  tickled  his  sister,  he  tickled  his  brother, 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  11 

And  lie  wasn't  content  with  tickling  Mat, 
Bat  he  tickled  the.  dog,  and  he  tickled  the  cat. 

With  his  higho  fiddle  de  de. 

He  tickled  the  pigeon,  he  tickled  the  wren, 
He  tickled  the  cock,  and  he  tickled  the  hen. 

With  his,  &c. 

* 

He  tickled  the  cow,  and  he  tickled  the  calf, 
He  tickled  the  duck  till  he  made  it  laugh, 
He  tickled  the  cook,  he  tickled  the  maid, 
And  he  tickled  the  pig  till  he  made  him  afraid. 

With  his,  &c. 

He  tickled  the  lion,  he  tickled  the  lamb, 
He  tickled  the  tiger,  he  tickled  the  ram. 

With  his,  &c. 


He  tickled  the  horse,  he  tickled  the  mare, 
And  he  tickled  the  girls  at  a  country  fair. 
There  was  never  known  such  a  tickling  job, 
For  after  he'd  done,  he  got  tickling  a  snob. 

With  his,  &c. 

This  tickling  man  was  so  tickling  bent, 

That  he  tickled  the  landlord  right  out  of  his  rent. 

With  his,  &c. 

He  went  out  a  tickling  without  any  coat, 
And  caught  a  sad  tickling  pain  in  his  throat, 
And  that  worst  of  all  ticklers,  grim  Mister  Deal's, 
He  tickled  this  tickler  right  out  of  his  breath. 

With  his,  die. 


12  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 


MR.  BARNEY  WIUilAMS,  AS  "PADDY  THE  PIPER. 


IEISH  SONGSTER.  13 

aunt  mjmimaas  quieten, 

OH  THE  CONTINENTAL  SPREAD. 

Told  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 
Aunt  Jemima  Pawlin,  of  Pawtucket,  had  a  quilten' 
party,  to  get  up  a  Continental  bed-spread,  and  she 
spread  out  her  fixens  on  the  entire  teetotal  continen- 
tal broad-guage  principle.  Now  this  bed-spread 
was  of  the  real  old-fashioned  squar-toed  chequer- 
bordered  plain  cut.  Every  patch  was  cut  out  of  a. 
dress  or  petticoat  worn  by  a  female  Continental 
patriotess  ;  that  is,  a  revolutionary  gal  of  liberty,  of 
the  times  that  tried  men's  souls,  and  tested  wimen's 
hearts  clar  down  to  the  very  heel.  She  had  appoint- 
ed herself  a  committee  of  several  to  get  a  revolu- 
tionary skirt  from  all  the  old  thirteen  States,  and 
there  came  in  skirts  of  all  colors,  like  Joseph's  coat, 
and  of  every  stripe ;  but  there  was  no  stripe,  I 
reckon,  worn  by  the  gals  of  '76  but  the  right  stripe, 
and  worthy  of  the  stars  that  shone  over  them,  and 
I  reckon  I  may  tell  you  what,  that  when  them  quilt 
frames  were  spread  out,  the  way  our  national  needles 
went  into  tliem  colors  was  about  equal  to  our  bayo- 
nets into  the  British  at  Bunker  Hill,  and  it  was 
done  to  reg'lar  old  revolutionary  music,  the  stitches 
keeping  time  to  the  tune ;  every  needle  sung  on  its 
own  hook.  There  was,  "Squeak  the  fife  aocl  beat 
the  drum,"  ''Hail Columby,  Happy  Land,"  "  Father 
an'  I  went  down  to  Camp,"  with  the  "  Star  Spangled 
Banner,  and  long  may  it  Wave."  And  I  tell  you 
what,  it  made  the  needles'  eyes  shine  and  their 
points  walk  in  and  out  as  quick  as  greased  lightnen'. 
Then  aunt  Jemima  passed  round  a  little  pennyroyal 
tea,  made  out  of  the  identical  yarb  that  our  great- 
grandmothers  and  grand- greatmothers  used  in  '76, 
when  their  husbands  put  their  feet  on  the  British 
tea  and  stamp  act.  Well,  now,  that  kind  o'  made 
our  needles  go  even  better.  Arter  that  a  fine  lot  of 
our  fellers  come  in.  That  made  our  needles  go  a 
leetle  bit  better*     My  feller,  Josh  Juneberry,  cams 

2 


14  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

in  too.  That  made  my  needle  go  better.  I  felt  him 
lookin'  over  my  shoulders,  and  watching  the  move- 
ments of  my  needle.  That  made  it  go  more  better, 
and  at  last  he  dropt  right  down  along  side  of  me, 
and  oh  !  I  thought  all  my  fingers  were  needles,  an7 
my  thumbs  were  a  sewing  machine.  Well,  I  squint- 
ed up  and  down  the  quilt,  and  I  saw  that  all  the 
other  gals  had  a  feller,  and  were  about  in  the  same 
state  of  woman  nater.  Well,  the  more  we  rolled  the 
quilt  frame  closer,  the  more  the  fellers  came  closer, 
At  last  says  Aunt  Jemimah,  "  Gals,  I  reckon  as 
how  them  'ere  continental  skirts  must  have  a  curnu- 
bial  effect  on  the  fellers  contiquinity."  "  No,"  says 
I,  "  I  rather  guess  the  magnetism  of  the  needles 
have  a  sort  of  a  ^^Z-vanic  affinity  upon  their  feller- 
osity."  At  last  we  rolled  up  and  stitched  up,  and 
rolled  and  stitched  up,  and  rolled  up,  till  both  sides 
of  the  frame,  and  t'other  side,  too,  came  bang  to- 
gether, when,  Oh !  Nebushadnezzar !  would  you 
believe  it?  You  wouldn't  believe  anything  else. 
Why,  bang  came  all  our  lips  together,  till  the  room 
fairly  cracked  like  a  Fourth  of  July  with  the  railroad 
collision  of  the  multitudino  us  lips.  Well,  we  unhitched 
the  quilted  continental  spread  from  the  frame,  and 
commenced  testing  its  mortal  endurance  by  the 
reg'lar  old-fashioned  throw  at  one  another  all  round, 
and  I  reckon  as  heow,  upwards  of  a  few  of  us  gals 
got  pretty  well  throwed  all  round.  Each  gal  pitched 
it  at  her  feller,  and  each  feller  pitched  it  at  his  gal, 
and  I  reckon  as  heow  there  was  quiltin'  done  then 
without  needles  in  it.  Each  feller,  when  he  got  the 
gal  under  the  quilt,  or  the  quilt  over  his  gal,  gave 
her  a  squeeze  till  her  hoops  cracked,  and  popped 
the  connuptial  question  of  "  Union  or  Smother ation." 
At  last  I  felt  the  spread  come  flop  over  me,  like  a 
haycock  over  a  hoptoad,  and  a  squeeze  that  knocked 
my  elbows  into  my  whalebones,  with  union  or  smoth- 
eration.  I  knowed  that  there  was  but  one  feller  in 
all  Pawtucket  could  do  up  a  squeeze  in  that  irresist- 
ible conflict-sort-o'-shape,  and    "  Union  or  Smother 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  15 

ation?"  was  the  'terrogation.  Union,  shouted  I, 
right  or  wrong.  Union,  shouted  the  entire  platform. 
And  that  night,  under  that  continental  spread  eagle 
bed  spread,  thirteen  gals  and  thirteen  fellers,  like 
the  old  thirteen  States,  were  joined  together  in  the 
united  state  of  hemlock,  for  all  etarnity,  and  all 
through — through 

Aunt  Jemima's  Continental  Quilten'. 


Suny  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams  and  Mrs.  Florence,  in 
all  the  Principal  Theatres 

Squeak  the  fife  and  beat  the  drum, 
Independence  day  is  come, 
Let  the  roasting  pig  be  bled, 
Quick  twist  off  the  rooster's  head, 
Quickly  Tub  the  pewter  platter, 
Heap  the  nut  cakes,  fried  in  butter ; 
Set  the  cups  and  beaker  glass, 
The  pumpkin  and  the  apple-sass. 

Send  the  keg  to  shop  for  brandy  ; 
Maple  sugar  we  have  handy. 
Independent,  staggering  Dick, 
A  noggin  mix  of  swinging  thick  ; 
Sal  put  on  your  russet  skirt, 
Jonathan  get  your  boughten  shirt, 
To-day  we  dance  to  tiddle  diddle — ? 
Here  comes  Sambo  with  his  fiddle. 

Sambo  take  a  dram  of  whisky, 
And  play  us  Yankee  Doodle  frisky, 
Moll,  come,  leave  your  wicked  tricks^ 
And  let  us  have  a  reel  of  six. 
Father  and  mother  shall  make  two — - 
Sal,  Moll  and  I,  stand  all  a  row ; 
Sambo,  play  and  dance  with  quality, 
This  is  the  day  of  blest  equality. 


16  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Father  and  mother  are  but  men, 
And  Sambo — is  a  citizen — 
Gome,  foot  it  Sal — Moll,  figure  in, 
And  mother,  you  dance  up  to  him. 
Now  saw  as  fast  as  ever  you  can  do, 
And  father  you  cross  o'er  to  Sambo — 
Thus  we  dance,  and  thus  we  play, 
On  glorious  Independent  Day. 

Encore   Verses. 
Rub  more  rosin  on  your  bow, 
And  let  us  have  another  go — 
Zounds  !  as  sure  as  eggs  and  bacon, 
Here's  ensign  Sneak,  and  uncle  Deacon. 
Aunt  Thiah,  and  there's  Bets  behind  her, 
On  blundering  mare,  than  beetle  blinder, 
And  there's  the  squire,  too,  with  his  lady ; 
Sal,  hold  the  beast,  I'll  take  the  baby. 

Moll,  bring  the  squire  our  great  arm  chair, 

Good  folks  we're  glad  to  see  you  here — 

Jothan  get  the  great  case  bottle, 

Your  teeth  can  pull  it's  corn-cob  copple. 

Ensign— Deacon,  never  mind, 

Squire  drink  until  you're  blind — 

Thus  we  drink  and  dance  away, 

This  glorious  Independent  Day. 


CRUISILEEIV  liAWIf. 

Sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams,  in  Rory  O'More* 
Let  the  farmer  praise  his  grounds, 
As  the  huntsman  does  his  hounds, 

And  the  shepherd  his  sweet  scented  lawn, — 
While  I  more  blest  than  they, 
Spend  each  happy  night  and  day 

With  my  smiling  little  cruiskeen  lawn,  lawn,  lawn, 

Oh,  my  smiling  little  cruiskeen  lawn. 
Leante  ruma  cruiskeen, 
Sleante  gar  ma  voor  neen, 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  17 

Agus  gramachree  ma  colleen  bawn,  bawn,  bawn, 
Agus  gramachree  ma  colleen  bawn. 

In  court,  with  manly  grace, 
Should  Sir  Toby  plead  his  case, 

And  the  merits  of  his  cause  make  known, 
Without  his  cheerful  glass, 
He'd  be  stupid  as  an  ass, 

So  he  takes  a  little  cruiskeen  lawn. 

Leante  ruma,  &c. 

Then  fill  your  glasses  high, 
Let's  not  part  with  lips  so  dry, 

Though  the  lark  should  proclaim  it  is  dawn  ; 
But  if  wo  can't  remain, 
May  we  shortly  meet  again, 
So  fill  another  cruiskeen  lawn. 

Leante  ruma,  &c. 

And  when  grim  Death  appeals, 
After  few,  but  happy  years, 

And  tells  me  my  glass  it  is  run, 
I'll  say,  begone  you  slave, 
For  great  Bacchus  gives  me  lave 

Just  to  fill  another  cruiskeen  lawn. 

Leante  ruma,  &c. 


Unsparl&able  Sarala  SmobMiis, 

OR  COURTSHIP  IN  CONNECTICUT. 

Told  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 
Sally  Ann  Snail  Snubbins,  of  Snakeboroughg  was 
the  most  all-crabbitest  man-hater  of  all  woman 
nater  that  ever  wore  nails  and  knuckles.  Why,  she 
would  scratch  a  man's  eyes  out  for  lookin'  at  her. 
But  one  day  she  happen  to  be  hangin'  up  clothes  in 
her  little  brother  Jim's  lot;  and  when  she  went  to 
come  out  of  the  yard,  she  seed  her  shadow  foller 
arter  with  a  hat  on.  She  took  it  for  the  shadow  of 
a  feller  tryin'  to  foller  arter  her,  an'  she  fell  to  work 

2* 


18  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

an'  fit  it  an'  kicked  it  till  she  tore  up  all  the  cow- 
cumber  patch,  and  knocked  off  all  her  toe-nails, 
afore  she  found  out  who  she  was  tighten'  with. 
An'  she'd  no  more  allow  a  feller  to  come  nigh  to  her 
than  a  wildcat  would  let  a  bear  play  hug  with  her 
kittens ;  an'  she  was  knowed  all  around  an'  here 
all  round  as  "  Unsparkable  Sal  Snubbins.,f*  She  was 
afeared  o'  nothin'  in  creation  but  lightnin',  an'  that 
only  because  when  it  come  round  her  she  couldn't 
feel  anything  bite  or  scratch,  or  she'd  a  split  the 
thunderbolt  up  into  oven  chips.  Well,  my  big  cousin 
Caleb  Cowcumber  was  a  feller  that  could  spark  any- 
.  thing  that  wore  hair.  If  he  once  put  his  foot  upon 
a  gal's  shadow,  he  had  her  about  as  safe  as  a  cat 
has  a  collapsed  mice. 

Now  Unsparkable  Sal  was  liven'  out  at  Farmer 
Squire  Fanbodder's,  and  every  Sunday  they  all 
went  to  meeting  a  haleluyean  week,  leavin'  Sal  an' 
the  big  dog  an'  cats  alone  at  home,  to  get  vittals  by 
the  time  they  come  back;  an'  at  these  times  Sal 
declared  an'  vowed,  positive  right  down,  that  if  any 
feller  should  dare  for  to  come  about  them  premises, 
sh'd  fire  the  dog  at  him,  or  set  the  double-barreled 
gun  upon  him,  just  as  sartain  as  fire  singes  cats' 
feathers. 

Well,  it  come  to  pass  that  one  o'  them  solitary  Sun- 
days o'  her'n,  cousin  Cale  Cowcumber  made  up  his 
mind  to  keep  the  Sabbath  in  sparkin'  Sal  about  skin 
deep,  or  die  out.  So  he  appeared  j  ist  arter  all  had  gone 
to  church,  an'  Sal  had  bakin'  to  do,  beds  to  make, 
chickens  to  kill,  taters  to  peel,  and  pigs  to  feed, 
for  about  twenty  odd  folks,  and  her  nat'ral  state  of 
ill  nater  was  about  up  to  jumpin'  tooth-ache.  Well, 
Sal  no  sooner  seed  cousin  Cale  comin'  towards  out- 
side of  the  lane  gate,  than  what  does  she  do,  but 
call  the  dog,  ole  Snapjaw,  and  hiss  him  on  to  him; 
but  Cale,  he  throwed  a  choice  bit  of  liver  and  a  little 
soft  nonsense  to  the  animal,  an'  the  critter  took  the 
hint  an'  walked  off  to  the  wittals.  Sal  now  got  the 
gun,  pinted  it  right  at  Cale,  an'  said,  "  clear  out,  you 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  *      19 

kill-sheep,  or  I'll  pull  the  pincushion  o'  this  gun  at 
you  ;  I'll  be  hanged  to  death  if  I  don't."  "  The  law 
don't  allow  shootin'  on  Sunday,"  said  Cale,  "so 
there,  I  reckon,  you'll  kind  o'  miss  your  mark." 
"Go  to  grass,"  cried  Sal.  "I'm  comin'  to  it,"  said 
Cale,  as  Sal  slammed  into  the  kitchen,  making  mouths 
at  him,  and  firen'  an  old  rail  at  his  head.  "Better 
save  your  oven  wood,"  cried  cousin  Cale.  So  know- 
in'  all  she  had  to  do,  what  does  he  do,  but  goes  to 
work,  splits  up  the  old  rails  for  oven  wood,  an'  kin- 
dles a  roarin'  fire  in  the  oven.  Next  thing  Sal  heard 
an  all-scarin'  cackling  amongst  the  chickens  in  the 
barn-yard,  an'  by  the  time  she  had  come  to  the  door 
to  see  the  noise  of  it,  if  cousin  Cale  hadn't  six  pair 
o'  fowls  and  hens  beheaded,  and  run  bump  up  against 
her  at  the  kitchen  door,  then  I'm  not  here  to  tell  it. 

"  What'r  you  abeout,  you  slink?"  says  she. 

"Doin'  up  fowl  murder  for  you,"  says  he. 

"What do  you  want  in  here?"  says  she. 

"I  want  to  scald  the  feathers,"  says  he. 

"  Doit,  an'  I'll  scald  you  like  a  hog  for  holidays," 
says  she. 

"  Your  water  ain't  hot  enough  to  scald  this  chick- 
en, no  how,"  says  Cale,  an'  he  banged  into  the 
kitchen,  rammed  the  fowls  into  the  pot,  poked  up  the 
fire,  an'  went  into  peelin'  taters  like  a  patent  apple 
peelin'  machine.  Now  this  obstinate  sample  of 
broad-guage  perseverance  put  Sal  into  a  state  of 
temper  a  near  about  thundergust.  She  grabbed  at 
the  fire  poker,  but  by  mistake  picked  up  a  hickory 
fire-brand,  and  just  as  she  was  about  to  chuck  it  at 
Cale's  face,  it  set  fire  to  the  waist  of  her  frock.  Up 
jumps  Cale,  took  her  waist  in  his  two  arms,  and 
squeezed  her  till  he  smothered  the  fire  out  of  her 
dress— the  wind  out  of  her  breath,  the  sweat  out  of 
her  two  eyes,  and  all  the  man-hater  out  of  her 
heart,  for  he  was  just  about  untying  his  arms  from 
about  her,  to  give  'em  a  rest,  when  she  cried  out, 
"  I'm  sparked  at  last !  Hang  on,  Cale,  till  the  fire's 
out." 


20  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

He's  holdin'  on  to  her  yet,  an'  her  to  him,  but 
she's  no  longer  Unsparkable  Sarah  Snnbbins,  but 
Mrs.  Caleb  Cowcumber,  of  Cowmeadow,  Connecticut. 

Moral. — You  young  sparks,  never  hang  fire  for 
the  proudest  fair,  and  you'll  never  be  put  out. 


Barney  Williams'  Every  Day  Facts. 

Oh,  a  horse  with  his  nose  at  the  rack, 

Is  thinking  of  corn  or  of  hay  ; 
And  the  man  with  no  shirt  to  his  back, 

Has  never  a  wash  bill  to  pay ; 
A  lad  with  cash  in  his  fob, 

Needn't  bother  himself  how  to  spend  it, 
And  a  tradesman  with  never  a  shop, 

Needn't  waste  all  the  profits  to  tend  it. 

A  man  with  no  tooth  in  his  head, 

Need  never  complain  of  its  aching  ; 
And  he  that  has  never  a  bed, 

Needn't  bother  himself  'bout  the  making ; 
A  fellow  with  plenty  of  brass, 

Is  seldom  in  want  of  the  tin, 
And  in  politics,  those  who  are  out, 

May  possibly  want  to  get  in. 

A  gal  that  aint  sparked  by  a  beau, 

Aint  afraid  that  the  old  folks  will  know  it, 
And  she  that  a  secret  don't  know, 

You  never  need  fear  that  she'll  blow  it; 
A  man  with  his  toes  frozen  off, 

Will  seldom  be  plagued  with  a  corn, 
And  he  that  buys  cow's  milk  in  town, 

Will  get  the  pure  thing  in  a  horn. 

A  man  that  is  doomed  to  be  hanged, 
Will  think  of  suspense  and  a  choker ; 

And  who  with  his  hands  stirs  the  fire, 
Will  be  burnt  for  not  using  the  poker ; 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  21 

A  man  who  has  nothing  to  eat, 

An  appetite  will  not  be  lacking, 
And  a  chap  widout  shoes  to  his  feet, 

Needn't  spend  any  dimes  for  the  blacking. 


"PI/AYE©  dri^> 

Tune — "  King  and  Countrymen." 
New  "  Bye-Words"  come  up  every  year, 
Which  all  round,  up  and  down,  we  hear. 
There's  one,  which  all  around  folks  shout, 
And  all  of  you  know  it  is  "Played  Out." 

CHORUS. 

With  ri  too  ral  loo,  retoo  raloo. 

If  you  happen  to  owe  a  man  a  bill, 
And  dodge  it  with  new  excuses  still, 
And  tell  him  you'll  pay  next  week,  no  doubt, 
He'll  quickly  reply,  "  Come,  that's  played  out." 
With  ri  too,  &c. 

When  on  some  evening  out  you  roam, 
And  rather  late  come  creeping  home, 
44  Where  have  you  been  staying  ?"  your  wife  bawls 

out. 
"I  was  kept   at  the   Lodge. "     She   cries,  "that's 

played  out." 

Ri  too,  &c. 

You  go  home  to  dine,  quite  ripe  for  feeding ; 
The  cook  or  wife's  been  gadding  or  reading. 
They  say,    "Butcher   came  late,  and  the  fire  went 

out." 
You  bang  at-the  plate,  crying,  "  that's  played  out." 

Ri  too,  &e. 

You  go  to  a  club  for  wine  and  wit, 
And  in  nice  expectation  sit ; 


22  MR.  AND  MBS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

You  hear  a  stale  joke,  and  angry  shout, 
•  "Oh,  dry  up,  old  hoss,  'that's played  out.''  " 

Bi  too,  &c. 

Old  politicians  mount  the  stump, 

And  swear  their  man  and  their  measure  a  trump. 

You've  heard  it  before,  and  are  apt  to  shout, 

With  your  thumb  to  your  nose,    "comey  that's  played 

out:* 

Hi  too,  &c. 

Your  gay  wife  sees  rich  jewels  or  dresses, 
And  tickles  you  round  with  fond  caresses, 
With  her  eyes  on  your  pocket,  her  hands  hereabout, 
Till  you  give  her  a  cooler,  with  "  that's  played  out:3 

Hi  too,  &c. 

Some  coughing  old  buck,  of  sixty-five, 
He  sees  a  young  beauty — feels  all  alive  ; 
With  his  purse  in  his  hand,  he  comes  bowing  about 
But  she  cries,  "  Old  Dad,  *  you We  all  played  out:  " 

Bi  too,  &c. 

Although  our  States  may  have  some  jars, 
Should  an  enemy  insult  our  stars, 
Every  heart  would  for  our  country  shout, 
And  show  them  Columbians  cartt  be  played  out. 

Bi  too,  &c. 


BOBBIN  AROUND. 

In  August  last,  on  one  Friday, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 
When  all  the  folks  were  making  hay, 

We  went  bobbin  around. 
Says  Josh  to  me,  let's  take  a  walk, 

Bobbin  around,  artund, 
And  we  can  have  a  private  talk, 

As  we  go  bobbin  around. 
Josh  and  I  went  on  a  spree, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 


X 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  23 

I  kissed  Josh,  and  Josh  kissed  me, 

As  we  went  bobbin  around. 
osh's  courage  no  longer  tarried. 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
Says  he,  "  Dear  Patience,  let  us  get  married, 

g,  As  we  go  bobbin  around." 

But  I  knowed  he  loved  another  gal, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
Long-legged,  crooked-shin,  snaggle-tooth  Sal, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 
When  Josh  and  I  got  to  the  church, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
I  cut  and  left  Josh  in  the  lurch, 

And  I  went  bobbin  around. 
Josh  looked  around  for  me,  his  gal, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 
So  he  made  up  his  mind,  and  married  Sal, 

And  they  went  bobbin  around. 
Now  all  you  chaps  what's  got  a  gal, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
Think  of   long-legged,   crooked-shin,   snaggle-tooth 
Sal,  As  you  go  bobbin  around. 

Extra    Verses. 
They  took  the  steamer  at  twelve  o'clock, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 
The  gun  went  off,  so  did  they  from  the  dock, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 
The  second  day  out  the  waves  ran  high, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
If  you'd  been  there,  I'll  swow  you'd  died, 

To  see  them  bobbin  around. 
The  Isthmus  reached,  Josh  bought  a  mule, 

Bobbin  around,  around  ; 
"When  he  got  on  him  he  looked  like  a  fool, 

^  Bobbin  around,  around. 

At  San  Francisco  Josh  keeps  a  shop, 

Bobbin  around,  around, 
And  Sal's  got  a  twelve  pound  chunk  on  her  lap, 

Bobbin  around,  around. 


24  MR.   AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS 


MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS,  AS   "CAROLINE  MORTON, 
IN  "OUR  GAL." 


IEISH  SONGSTER.  ZJ> 

I'll  Hang1  my  Harp  on  a  Willow- 
Tree. 

I'll  hang  my  harp  on  a  willow  tree, 

I'll  be  off  to  the  wars  again, 
My  peaceful  home  has  no  charms  for  me, 

The  battle-field  no  pain  ; 
The  lady  I  love  will  soon  be  a  bride, 

With  a  diadem  on  her  brow  ; 
Oh,  why  did  she  flatter  my  boyish  pride  ? 

She's  going  to  leave  me  now. 

Chorus — Oh,  why,  &o. 

She  took  me  away  from  my  warlike  lord, 

And  gave  me  a  silken  suit, 
I  thought  no  more  of  my  master's  sword, 

When  I  played  on  my  lady's  lute. 
She  seemed  to  think  me  a  boy  above 

The  pages  of  low  degree ; 
Oh,  had  I  loved  with  a  boyish  love, 

It  would  have  been  better  for  me. 

Then  I'll  hide  in  my  breast  every  selfish  care, 

I'll  flush  my  pale  cheek  with  wine, 
When  smiles  awake  the  bridal  pair, 

I'll  hasten  to  give  them  mine ; 

I'll  laugh  and   I'll   sing,  tho'  my  heart  may  bleed, 

And  I'll  walk  in  the  festal  train  ; 
And  if  I  survive,  I'll  mount  my  steed, 

And  I'll  off  to  the  wars  again. 

But  one  golden  tress  of  her  hair  I'll  twine 

In  my  helmet's  sable  plume; 
And  then  on  the  field  of  Palestine 

I'll  seek  an  early  doom. 
And  if  by  the  Saracen's  hand  I  fall 

'Mid  the  noble  and  the  brave, 
A  tear  from  my  lady  love  is  all 

I  ask  for  a  warrior's  grave. 

3 


26  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

Tlse  Man  that  Travels  on  Ills  Shape. 

This  life's  a  long  and  crooked  road, 

And  we  must  all  get  through  it  ; 
'Tis  easy  to  avoid  a  load, 

If  you  know  how  to  do  it. 
'Tis  only  to  push  straight  along, 

Avoiding  every  scrape, 
Steal  sideways  through  each  lucky  throng, 

And  travel  on  your  shape. 

I  bounce  into  a  tailor  store ; 

He  knows  my  grace  of  figure  ; 
He  clapt  his  suit  upon  my  back, 

To  advertise  it  bigger. 
Upon  the  street  I  take  my  swing, 

The  boys  cried,  "  Lucky  ape. 
Pray  tell  us  how  you  do  this  thing  ?" 

Why,  I  travel  on  my  shape. 

I  poke  into  the  first  hotel, 

And  if  they  don't  know  me, 
They  note  my  figure ;  by  that  spell, 

The  best  apartments  show  me. 
And  when  they  next  show  me  a  bill, 

'Tis  thus  I  make  escape, 
With,  "Ah,  thank  you,  sir,  I'll  call  again" 

And  travel  on  my  shape. 

And  next  I  fascinate  some  fair, 

By  words  as  sweet  as  honey ; 
She  takes  me  for  a  millionaire, 

I  take  her  for  her  money. 
She  soon  asks  who  my  banker  is, 

When  I  "  confess  the  cape," 
I've  not  a  red — and  only  wed, 

To  travel  on  my  shape. 

Next  at  some  famous  watering  place, 

My  Safety  Bodge  I  try  on  ; 
My  airs  soon  get  me  into  grace, 

And  I  am  quite  the  Lion. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  27 

And  when  I'm  called  to  foot  my  bill,      m 

I  cry,  M  A  little  more  grape." 
My  name's  a  quid  pro  quo,  you  know, 

I  travel  on  my  shape. 


CORNSTALK  SAL. 

AS    SUNG   BY   MRS.    BARNEY  WILLIAMS. 

Tune — "  Kitty  carit  you  ki  me  oh" 

Away  down  East  there  lived  a  gal, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

The  people  called  her  cornstalk  Sal, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

CHORUS. 

Kimo  nary  huckleberry, 

Broom  corn,  hainy  kimo, 

Corn-shell,  calabash,  truck-patch,  yaller  squash, 

Cabbage-stalk  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

This  gal,  she  loved  a  nice  young  feller, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

With  a  face  as  white  as  mutton  taller, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 

Her  chap,  he  tried  to  treat  her  cool, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh 

He  called  her  a  squash  and  a  love-sick  mule, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh? 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 

They  met  at  an  apple-peelin'  frolic, 
With  sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

And  Sal  got  up  a  bilious  colic, 

With  a  loud  scream  kicking  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 
Kimo  nary,  &c. 


8  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

She  liked  to  a  died,  but  then  she  didn't, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

She  thought  she  would,  and  then  she  wouldn't, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 

She  curled  all  up  like  a  apple-peelen, 

With  her  scream  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 
This  fotched  her  feller  to  his  feelen, 

With  a  scream  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh! 
Kimo  nary,  &c. 

He  squeezed  her  five  yards  round  the  waist, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

Crying,  "Sal,  if  you're  comin'  to,  make  haste." 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 

"She's  gone,"  he  bellowed,  like  a  bull, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 
While  Sal,  she  laughed  till  her  skin  was  full> 
'    Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

Kimo  nary,  &e. 

Said  he,  "  I'd  marry  her,  no  mistake." 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

Sal  jumped  up,  screamed  "  aifuff  said,  shake." 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 

They  spliced  that  night,  'mid  dance  and  squealen, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh ! 

And  they  ne'er  forgot  that  apple-peelen, 
Sing  song  Kitty  can't  you  ki  me  oh  ! 

Kimo  nary,  &c. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  29 

The  Ranting,  Roaring  Irishman. 

Sung  by  Mr.  Barney  Williams. 

There  was  a  lady  lived  at  Leith, 

A  lady  very  stylish,  man. 
And  yet  in  spite  of  all  her  teeth, 

She  fell  in  love  with  an  Irishman. 

CHORUS. 

A  ranting,  roaring  Irishman, 
A  wild  tremendous  Irishman, 

A  scaring,  swearing, 

Thumping,  bumping, 
Ramping,  roaring  Irishman. 

His  face  was  no  ways  beautiful, 

For  with  smallpox  'twas  scarred  across, 

And  the  shoulders  of  the  ugly  dog 
Were  almost  double  a  yard  across. 

Oh,  the  lump  of  an  Irishman, 
The  whisky-devouring  Irishman, 

The  great  he  rogue 

With  his  wonderful  brogue, 
The  rioting,  fighting  Irishman. 

One  of  his  eyes  was  bottle  green, 
And  the  other,  it  was  out,  my  dear  ; 

And  the  calves  of  his  wicked  looking  legs, 
Were  more  than  two  feet  across,  my  dear. 

Oh,  the  monstrous  boy  of  an  Irishman, 
The  rattling,  battling  Irishman, 

The  stamping,  ramping, 

Swaggering,  lathering 
Swash  of  an  Irishman. 

He  took  too  much  of  Lundy  foot, 

That  he  used  to  snort  and  shuffle  off ; 

And  in  size  and  shape,  neck  and  nape, 
Was  as  broad  and  big  as  a  buffalo. 

3* 


30  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Ob,  the  horrible  Irishman, 

The  thundering,  blundering  Irishman, 

The  dashing,  smashing, 

Slashing,  lashing,    > 
Thrashing,  crashing  Irishman. 

His  name  was  a  terrible  name,  indeed, 

Being  Timothy  Brady  Mulligan, 
Ajid  whenever  he  emptied  his  tumbler  of  punchj 

He'd  never  rest  till  it  was  fall  again. 
The  boozing,  bruising  Irishman, 
The  reeling,  peeling  Irishman, 

The  whisky,  frisky, 

Running,  gunning, 
Brandy — no — dandy  Irishman. 

This  was  the  lad  the  lady  loved, 

Like  all  the  girls  of  quality, 
He  broke  all  the  pates  of  the  men  of  Leith, 

Just  in  a  wee  bit  of  jollity. 
Oh,  the  leathing  Irishman, 
The  barbarous,  amorous  Irishman, 

The  hearts  of  the  maids, 

And  the  gentlemen's  heads, 
Were  bothered,  I'm  sure,  by  this  Irishman. 


EOE¥  O?M0RE. 

Young  Rory  O'More  courted  Kathleen  Bawn, 
He  was  bold  as  the  hawk,  and  she  soft  as  the  dawn  ; 
He  wished  in  his  heart  pretty  Kathleen  to  please, 
And  he  thought  the  best  way  to  do  that  was  to  tease. 

''Now,  Rory,  be  aisy,"  sweet  Kathleen  would  cry, 

Reproof  on  her  lip,  but  a  smile  in  her  eye ; 

"  With  your  tricks  I  don't  know,  in  troth,  what  I'm 

about, 
Faith  you  teazed  me  till  I've  put  my  cloak  on  inside 

out." 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  31 

"Oh,  jewel"  says  Rory,   "  that  same  is  the  way 
You've  thrated  my  heart  for  this  many  a  day ; 
And  'tis  plazed  that  I  am,  and  why  not,  to  be  sure  ? 
For  it's  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory  O'More. 

*'  Indeed,  then,"  says  Kathleen,  "  don't  think  of  the 

like, 
For  I  gave  half  a  promise  to  soothering  Mike ; 
The  ground  that  I  walk  on  he  loves,  I'll  be  bound." 
"  Faith,"  says  Rory,    "I'd  rather  love  you  than  the 

ground." 

"  Now,  Rory,  I'll  cry  if  you  don't  let  me  go, 
Sure,  I  dream  every  night  I  am  hating  you  so !" 
u  Oh,"  says  Rory,  "that  same  I'm  delighted  to  hear, 
For  dhrames  always  go  by  conthraries,  my  dear. 

*'  Oh,  jewel,  kape  dreaming  that  same  till  ye  die, 
And  bright  morning  will  give  dirty  night  the  black 

lie; 
And  'tis  plased  that  I  am,  and  why  not,  to  be  sure  ? 
Since  it's  all  for  good  luck,"  says  bold  Rory  O'More. 

"  Arrah,    Kathleen,    my    darlint,    you've   tased  me 

enough, 
And  I've  thrashed,  for  your  sake,  Dinny  Grimes  and 

Jim  Duff, 
And  I've  made  myself,  drinking   your  health,  quite 

a  baste — 
So  I  think  after  that  I  may  talk  to  the  praste." 

Then  Rory,  the  rogue,  stole  his  arm  round  her  neck, 
So  soft  and  so  white,  without  freckle  or  speck, 
And  he  looked  in  her  eyes  that  were  beaming  with 

light, 
And   he  kissed  her  sweet  lips ;  don't  you  think  he 

was  right  ? 

"Now,  Rory,  leave  off,  sir,  you'll  hug  me  no  more, 
That's  eight  times  to-day  you've  kissed  me  before." 
"  Then  here  goes  another,"  says  he,  "  to  make  sure, 
For  there's  luck  in  odd  numbers,"  says  Rory -O'More. 


32  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

THE  BOLD  FRJTATEMK* 

Sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 

It's  0,  my  dearest  Polly,  you  and  I  must  part, 

I  am  going  across  the  seas,  love,  I  give  to  you  mj 

heart  ; 
My  ship   she  lies  in  waiting,  so  fare  thee  well,  my 

dear, 
I  am  just  a  going  on  board  of  the  Bold  Privateer. 

But   oh,  my   dearest   Johnny,    great   dangers  have 

been  crossed, 
And  many  a  sweet  life  by  the  sea  has  been  lost ; 
You  had  better  stop  at  home  with  the  girl  that  loves 

you  dear, 
Than  to   venture   your   sweet  life  on  the  Bold  Pri- 
*    vateer. 

When  the  wars  are  over,  may  Heaven  spare  my  life? 
Then   soon   I   will   come  back  to  my  sweet  loving 

wife. 
Then  soon   I   will   get   married  to  ©harming  Polly 

dear, 
And  forever  bid  adieu  to  the  Bold  Privateer. 

Oh,  my  dearest  Polly,  your  friends  do  me  dislike, 
Besides,  you  have  two  brothers,  who'd  quickly  take 

my  life. 
Come   change  your   ring   with   me,  my  dear,  come 

change  your  ring  with  me, 
And  that  shall  be  our  token,  when  I  am  on  the  sea. 


LOW-BACEEP  CAB. 

When  first  I  saw  sweet  Peggy, 

'Twas  on  a  market  day, 
On  a  low-backed  car  she  drove  and  sat 

Upon  a  truss  of  hay. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  33 

But  when  that  hay  was  blooming  grass, 

And  decked  with  flowers  of  spring, 
No  flowers  were  there  that  could  compare 
With  the  blooming  girl  I  sing. 

As  she  sat  in  her  low-backed  car, 
The  man  at  the  turnpike  bar, 
Good-natured  soul, 
Never  asked  for  his  toll, 
And  looked  after  the  low-backed  car. 

In  battle's  wild  commotion, 

The  proud  and  mighty  Mars, 
With  hostile  scythes  demands  his  tithes 

Of  death  in  warlike  scars ; 
But  Peggy,  Peaceful  goddess, 

Has  darts  in  her  bright  eye, 
That  knock  men  down  in  the  market  town, 

As  right  and  left  they  fly. 
As  she  sits  in  that  low-back'd  car, 
The  battle  more  dangerous  far, 

For  the  Doctor's  art  cannot  heal  the  smart, 
That  is  hit  from  the  low-back'd  car. 

Sweet  Peggy  round  her  car,  sirs, 

Has  strings  of  ducks  and  geese, 
But  the  scores  of  hearts  she  slaughters 

By  far  outnumbers  these — 
While  she  among  her  poultry  sits 

Just  like  a  turtle  dove, 
Well  worth  a  cage,  I  do  engage, 

With  the  blooming  God  of  Love, 
As  she  sat  in  her  low-back'd  car, 
The  lovers  came  near  and  far, 

And  envy  the  chicken  that  Peggy  is   picking, 
As  she  sits  in  her  low-back'd  car. 

I'd  rather  own  that  car,  sirs, 

With  Peggy  by  my  side, 
Than  a  coach  and  four,  and  gold  galore, 

With  a  lady  for  my  bride —    : 


34  ME.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

For  a  lady  would  sit  forninst  me 
On  a  cushion  made  with  taste, 

While  Peggy  would  sit  beside  me, 
With  my  arm  around  her  waist. 

As  we  rode  in  the  low-back' d  car, 

To  be  married  by  Father  Meaghar, 
Oh,  my  heart  would  beat  high, 
At  each  glance  of  her  eye, 

As  we  rojle  in  that  low-back' d  car. 


Old  Ireland's  I$ay  is  Breakings 

Tune — "  Young  May  Moon" 

Old  Ireland's  day  is  breaking, 
Her  ancient  glory's  waking  now, 

From  the  Liffy,  to  see 

The  voice  of  her  free. 
The  Emerald  Isle  is  shaking  now, 
The  Emerald  Isle,  &c. 

Reform's  broad  arm  is  spreading  now, 
Her  toiling  children  aiding  now. 

Education's  great  might 

Sheds  her  magical  light, 
And  the  gloom  of  her  night  is  fading  now. 

No  longer  Fair  Erin  is  sleeping  now, 
'Neath  fraud  and  oppression  weeping  now ; 

Commotion  is  dead, 

And  oppression  hath  ned, 
And  her  sons  their  harvest  are  reaping  now. 

Ye  exiled  Sons  of  Erin,  smile, 

With  hope  for  your  own  dear  sainted  Isle, 

For  her  day  is  at  hand, 

Among  nations  to  stand, 
And  the  world  hail  the  Banner  of  Innisfail.* 

*  Innis  fail — Ireland. 


IRISH  SONGSTER,  35 

Ye  Factory-Maid  and  Ye  Over-yer- 
geer. 

OR  YE  TEN  DOLLAR    BILL — A  SPINDLE    TRAG-EDY. 

As  sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 
Tune-YQ  "Parliament  of  England,"  or  Bold  Mariners, 

There  was  a  fair  young  maiden 

Worked  in  a  factory. 
There  was  an  over ~yer -seer  that  went 

Ye  maiden  for  to  see. 
Twelve  times  a  week  he  courted  her, 

And  thrice  on  a  Sunday. 
At  last  ye  maid  unto  him  said, 
[Quickly)  "  What  are  your  intentions,  pray  ?" 

Says  he,  "For  my  intentions, 

They  are  of  the  first  chop, 
For  on  next  Saturday  evening 

Ye  question  I  mean  for  to  pop." 
He  on  that  Saturday  evening 

His  promise  did  fulfill, 
And  the  question  he  did  pop,  was, 
Can  you  lend  me  a  ten  dollar  bill  ?  [quickly.) 

Says  she,  "  Til  lend  the  bill,  sir, 

If  you  will  pledge  beside, 
That  at  this  hour  next  Saturday  night, 

You'll  wed  me  as  your  bride." 
She  made  him  sign  his  note  of  hand, 

His  promise  to  fulfill, 
And  off  she  went  with  the  note,  sir, 

And  he  with  the  ten  dollar  bill,  [quickly.) 

Now,  with  that  same  ten  dolyers, 

He  took  a  gal  to  a  ball, 
On  the  night  he'd  vowed  to  wed,  sir, 

And  went  the  thing  quite  tall. 


36  MR.  AND  MBS.  BARNE-Y  WILLIAMS' 

As  he  stood  for  his  partner 

All  for  the  next  quadrille, 
Up  steps  the  Factory  maiden, 

With  the  Bond  of  that  "ten  dollar  bill" 

The  band  struck  up  the  dance,  now, 

The  bell  struck  seven  o'clock, 
Ye  over-yer-seer  took  for  the  door, 

But  the  maiden,  she  turned  the  lock. 
She  pulled  out  a  revolver, 

Crying,  "  Wed,  or  pay,  or  kill, 
You'll  make  us  one,  or  we  are  two, 

All  by  that  same  ten  dollar  bill." 

His  gal  began  to  dwindle 

At  the  momentuous  strife, 
She  stabbed  herself  with  a  spindle, 

But  her  whalebones  saved  her  life. 
A  parson  came — the  Factory  girl         •» 

Made  the  over-yer-seer  fulfill, 
And  all  their  little  over-yer-seers 

Were  marked  by  that  ten  dollar  bill. 


Sung  by  Barney  Williams,  in  the  Drama  of  Bryan 
O'Lymi. 

Bryan  O'Lynn  was  a  Scotchman  born, 
His  teeth  they  were  long,  and  his  beard  was  unshorn/ 
His  temples  far  out,  and  his  eyes  were  far  in, 
I'm  a  beautiful  creature,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 

CHORUS. 

With  my  ranting,  roaring,  hearing,  boaring,  screwing, 
Gouging,  auguring,  melliting,   chiseling,  stokering, 
Plastering,  gammering,  sailoring,  wafering, 
Capering,  tinkering,  soldiering,  butchering, 
With  my  three-handled,  four-ironed  gouging  pin, 
I'm  a  beautiful  creature,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  37 

Bryan  O'Lynn  had  no  coat  to  put  on, 
He  borrowed  a  goat  skin  to  make  him  one — 
He  planted  the  horns  right  under  his  chin, 
They'll  answer  for  pistols,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 

Bryan  O'Lynn  had  no  breeches  to  wear, 
So  he  bought  him  a  sheepskin  to  make  him  a  pair, 
With  the  skinny  side  out,  and  the  woolly  side  in, 
They're  nice,  light  and  cool,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 

Bryan  O'Lynn  had  no  watch  for  to  wear, 
So  he  got  him  a  turnip,  and  scoop'd  it  out  fair, 
He  then  put  a  cricket  clane  under  the  skin, 
They'll  think  it's  a  ticking,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 

Bryan  O'Lynn,  he  bought  him  a  gun, 

He  planted  the  trigger  right  under  his  thumb. 

He  pulled  the  trigger,  the  gun  gave  a  crack, 

And'  knocked  Bryan  O'Lynn  on  the  broad  of  his  back. 

Bryan  O'Lynn  went  to  bring  his  wife  home, 

He  had  but  one  horse,  that  was  all  skin  and  bone, 

I'll  put  her  behind,  as  nate  as  a  pin, 

And  her  mother  before  me,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 

Bryan  O'Lynn,  and  his  wife  and,  his  mother, 
Were  all  going  over  the.  bridge  together, 
The  bridge  broke  down,  and  they  all  tumbled  in, 
We'll  find  ground  at  the  bottom,  says  Bryan  O'Lynn. 


MY  HEARTS  IM  OLD  IMElAia 

Sung  by  Barney  Williams,  in  the  Drama  of  Shandy 
McGuire. 

My  bark  is  on  the  billow  dash'd  gloriously  on  , 
And  glad  were  the  notes  of  the  sailor-boy's  song  ; 
Yet  sad  was  my  bosom,  and   bursting  with  woe, 
For  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wherever  I  go, 
Oh,  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wTherever  I  go. 

4 


38  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

More  dear  than  the  flowers  that  Italy  yields, 
Are  the  red-breasted  daisies  that  spangle  thy  fields, 
The  shamrock,  the  hawthorn,  the  white  blossom  sloe, 
For  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wherever  I  go, 
Oh  my  heart's,  &c. 

The  shores  they  look  lovely,  yet  cheerless  and  vain, 
Bloom  the  lilies  of  France,  and  the  olives  of  Spain  ; 
When  I  think  of  the  fields  where  the  wild  daisies 

grow, 
Then  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wherever  I  go, 
Oh,  my  heart's,  &c. 

The  lilies  and  roses  abandon  the  plains, 

Though  the  summer's  gone  by,  still  the  shamrock 

remains, 
Like  a  friend  in  misfortune,   if  blossoms  o'er  the 

snow, 
For  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wherever  I  go, 
Oh,  my  heart's,  &c. 

I  sigh  and  I  vow,  if  e'er  I  get  home, 
No  more  from  my  dear  native  cottage  I'll  roam; 
The  harp  shall  resound,  and  the  goblet  shall  flow, 
For  my  heart's  in  old  Ireland,  wherever  I  go, 
*  Oh,  my  heart's,  &c. 


THUST  TO  JLtXCJK. 

A  popular  Comic  Song,  sung  by  Mr.  B.  Williams,  in  the 
Drama  of  Paddy  the  Piper. 

Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the 

face, 
Sure  the  heart  must  be  easy,  if  in  the  right  place; 
Let  the  world  wag  awry,  and  your  friends  turn  to 

foes, 
When  your  pockets  are  dry,  and  threadbare  your 

clothes. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  39 

Should  woman  deceive  you,  when  you  trusted  her 

heart, 
Ne'er  sigh  will  relieve  you,  but  adds  to  the  smart. 
Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  stare  fate  in  the 

face, 
Sure  the  heart  must  be  easy,  if  in  the  right  place. 

Trust  to  luck,  trust  to  luck,  and  you'll  never  forget, 
Bright  morning  will  follow  the  darkest  night  yet ; 
Let   the   wealthy   look   grand,  and  the  proud  pass 

you  by, 
With  the  back  of  their  fist  and  disdain  in  their  eye, 
Snap  your  fingers  and  smile,  let  them  pass  on  their 

way, 
But  remember,  the  while,  every  dog  has  his  day. 
Trust  to  luck,  &c. 


YtHWftl!  €W>IM€*  TO  f  HE  WARS. 

A  PARODY  ON  JEANNETTE  AND  JEANNOT. 

As  sung  by  Barney  Williams,  with  great  applause,  in 
the  extravaganza  of  "  Jenny  Lind." 

You  are  going  to  the  wars,  where  the  dirty  fighting's 

done, 
Wid  your  knapsack  to  your  back,  and  your  shoulder 

to  your  gun ; 
Oh,  you'll  dance  no  more  at  fairs,  nor  go  out  upon 

a  spree, 
What's  worse   than  that,  my  Micky,  you'll  be  for- 
getting me ; 
Wid  your  soger  coat  of  green,  when  you're  thramp- 

ing  into  town, 
You'll   break    the   hearts  of  all   the  gals,  and  turn 

them  upside  down  ; 
And  p'raps  you'll   marry  some  of  them,  and  if  you 

do,  ye  see, 
By  the  powers,  I'll  not  rest  in  bed,  but  iVsmurtherwg 

you  I'll  be, 

By  the  powers,  &c. 


40  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

When  the  drums  do  beat  the  charge,  you'll  be  drop- 
ping on  your  back, 
Like  they  do  in  Tipperary,  but  your  skull  will  show 

no  crack  ; 
And   when   the   gineral  hears   of  it,  promoted  you 

will  be, 
A   corporal   or  a  body  guard,  what  will   become  of 

me  ? 
If  I  were  Queen  of  'Meriky,  or  California's  King, 
Fd  have  no  guns  used  in  the  wars,  or  any  such  mar- 

thering  thing ! 
All  the  'venters  of  the  pistols,  I'd  transport  across 

the  sea, 
And   I'd   kill   the  sogers  dacently,  Shelala's  grama- 

chree, 

And  I'd  kill,  &c, 


FE.AMIM©  O'FIiAHTlirAGABrS. 

A  celebrated    Comic   Song,  sung  by  Barney  Williams, 
in  the  Drama  of  4'  0  Flannagan  and  the  Fairies." 

Now  I'm  of  age,  I'll  come  into  my  property, 

Devil  a  ha'penth  I'll  think  of  but  fun ; 
'Tis  myself  will  be  putting  the  ladies  in  papoury, 

Just  to  prove  I'm  my  daddy's  own  son. 
Och  now,  Mistress  Honey,  I'll  teach  ye  civility, 

Judy  O'Doole,  escape  if  ye  can — 
I'm  the  boy  that  will  show  ye  the  sweets  of  gentility, 

Loving  most  women,  and  fearing  no  man. 
Horroo  !   wack ! 
For  that  was  the  way  with   the   Flaming  O'Flanna- 
gans, 

From  the  first  illigant  boys  of  the  name. 
For  kissing  and  courting,  and  filling    the  can  again, 

Drinking  and  fighting,  like  cocks  of  the  game. 
Horroo !  wack ! 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  41 

The  tazing,  the  cursing,  the  shouting,  the  shooting, 

The  clattering  of  glasses,  the  beating  of  skulls, 
The  dancing  would  sure  be  upon  the  best  footing, 

Wid  Irish  Miss  Murphy s  and  English  Miss  Bulls, 
The  neat  little  party  you'd  like  to  see — 

The   loves   and   the  whisky,  and  the  devil   knows 
what, 
And  the  dances  that  we  wacked  black  and  blue,  like 
the  devil, 
And   the   spalpeens  we   floored   at   the  very  first 
shot. 

Horroo  !  wack,   &c. 


O'Brien,  he  went  through  the  workl  without  lying, 

And  he  beat  the  Danes,  nine  scores  of  them, 
And  faix,  after  that,  the  Danes  beat  O'Brien,, 

And  he  died  victorious,  niussha  more  fiat  was  Pat. 
Ever  since  that,  they've  been  devils  for  fighting, 

That  ever  was  fought  on  dry  land  or  ocean. 
If  blood  had  been  spilt,  you'd  find  an  O'Flannagan, 

Either  beating  the  enemy,  or  lying  stone  dead. 
Horroo  !   wack,  &c. 


Encore    Verse. 

Do  you  see  how  I'm  laughed  at  by  all  those  queer 

vagabones, 

Shouting  and  screaming  twice  as  loud  as  they  can. 

Paddy   Flynn,  I'll   go   bail,  I   give  you  a  sore  bag 

o'  bones, 

If  you'd  only  come  here,  and  turn  out  like  a  man. 

Do  ye's  think  I'll  stop  here    till   morning,  diverting 

./e's,  .     m.         ....  

While  my  nate  jug  of  punch  is  cooling  outside? 
Good-night,  boys,  you  know  I'm  sorry  from  parting 
ye's, 
But  the  love  of  the  whisky  was  always  my  pride. 
Horroo  !  wack,  &c. 

4* 


42  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 


MR.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS,  AS  RAGGED  PAT,  IN  THE  DRAMA 
OP  "  IRELAND  AS  IT  WAS." 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  43 

BILLY  O'ROITRIUE. 

As  sung  by  Barney  Williams,  in  the  Drama  of  Ireland 

as  it   Was. 
Faith,  I  grased  my  brogues  and   took  my  stick,  the 

twentieth  day  of  May,  sirs, 
Then  aff  to  Dublin  town  I  tripped,  to  walk  upon  the 

sae,  sirs, 
To  see  if  I  could  get  employ,  to  cut  their  hay  and 

corn,  sirs, 
To  pick  up  pence  upon  the  sea,  the  cockneys  I  might 
larn,  sirs, 

With  my  phillaloo  aud  heart  so  true, 
Arrah  ?  Billy  O'Rourke  the  Bochle. 

I  gave  the  captain  six  thirteens,  to  carry  me  o'er  to 

Porgate, 
But  before  we  got  half  o'  the  road,  the  wind,  it  blew 

at  a  hard  rate, 
The  sticks  that  grew  up  through  the  ship,  they  sang 

out  like  a  whistle, 
And  the  sailors  all,  both  great  and  small,  they  swore 

we's  going  to  the  devil. 

The  ship,  she  sang  us  all  to  sleep,  till  they  came  to 

the  place  of  landing, 
And  those  that  were  the  most  fatigued,  the  sails  were 

out  a  handing ; 
They  looked  so  smart,  they  won  my  heart — says  I, 

you  fools  of  riches, 
Although  you've  no  tails  to  your  coats>  you've  money 

in  your  breeches. 

I  met  an  honest  gentleman,  a  traveling  the  road,  sirs, 
Good  morning,  says  I,  pray   how   do    you  do  ?     but 

he  proved  a  mighty  rogue,  sirs, 
For  at  the  corner  of  a   lane,  a  pistol  he  pulled  out, 

sirs, 
And  he  rammed  the  muzzle,  arrah,  what   a   shame  I 

into  my  very  mouth,  sir. 


44  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Your  money,  blast  your  Irish  eyes  ?  Arrah !  be 
merciful,  cried  I,  sirs, 

He  swore  my  brains  he  would  blow  out,  if  I  should 
bawl  or  cry.  sirs, 

He  levelled  fair  just  for  my  sconce,  three  steps  I  did 
retire,  sirs, 

His  pan,  it  flashed,  and  his  head  I  smashed — my  shil- 
lelagh don't  miss  fire,  sirs. 

A  widow   next  did   me   employ,  all  for  to  cut  and 

thrash,  sir, 
No  man  like  me  could  handle  a  flail,  in  troth,  I  was 

a  dasher; 
She   had   a   maid,  that   used   me  well,  but  I  being 

afraid  o'  the  beadle, 
I   bid   her    good    morning — Madam,  says  I,  I  think 

you'll  have  use  for  your  cradle. 


As  sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams,  and  received  with 
great  applause. 

It's  now  then  to  you  I  will  sing 
About  a  gal  they  call  Sal  Sling,  Sling,  Sling,  Sling, 
Sling,  Sling 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou, 
Ri  tu  ri  au, 
Ri  tu  ri  ou, 
Ri  tu  ri  au. 

This  gal  she  dressed  so  very  neat, 
And  with  perfume  she  smelled  so  sweet,  sweet,  sweet, 
sweet,  sweet,  sweet. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 

This  gal  she  had  a  very  sweet  look, 
But  her  nose,  it  turn'd  up  like  a  hook,  hook,  hook, 
hook,  hook,  hook. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.   '  45 

Oh  I  all  the  fellows  around  the  place 
Did  try  to  see-e-e  this  'ere  gal's  face,  face,  face,  fac  .. 
face,  face. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 

But  every  one  of  them  did  fail, 
For  o'er  her  face  she  wore  a  wail,  wail,  wail,  wail, 
wail,  wail. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 

They  all  with  anger  spoke  quite  loud, 
And  with  their  noise  did  draw  a  crowd,  crowd,  crowd, 
crowd,  crowd,  crowd. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 

Oh  !  she  with  fear  that  they  might  speak, 
Towards   her   home   di^l  slyly  sneak,  sneak,  sneak, 
sneak,  sneak, sneak. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c.  * 

Oh !  from  the  shock  she  heavily  sighed, 
Away  flew  her  broath,  and  then  she  died,  died,  died, 
died,  died,  died. 
Chorus — Ri  tu  ri  ou,  &c. 


RIDDLE  CUM  SjISTJSLY  DCS®. 

As   sung   by  3Irs.    B.  Williams,    throughout    Great 
Britain  and  the  States,  with  immense  applause. 

I'll  sing  a  song — 'tis  not  very  long — 

'Tis  five  verses  long — may-be  shorter, 

Of  a  couple  so  fair,  who  were  called,  I  declare, 

Long  Jim,  and  Sam  Johnson's  big  daughter. 

Riddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo, 
Riddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo. 


46  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS1 

This  fellow,  so  tall,  was  a  Ferryman's  son ; 
He  carried  folks  over  the  water  ; 
'Twas  in  his  Dad's  boat,  as  across  it  did  float, 
He  first  saw  Sam  Johnson's  big  daughter. 

Kiddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo,  &c. 

He  told  her  that  night,  if  the  moon  would  give  light, 
He'd  carry  her  off,  nothing  shorter; 
So  she  promised  to  go  along  with  her  beau, 
Long  Jim,  did  Sam  Johnson's  big  daughter. 

Kiddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo,  &c. 

Not  a  moment  was  lost — so  over  he  crossed — 
From  the  window  she  jumped — Long  Jim  caught  her; 
Then  a  gun  went  off  bang — in  the  water  she  sprang — 
'Twas  the  last  of  Sam  Johnson's  big  daughter. 

Riddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo,  &c. 

When  this  Long  Sim  saw, — hte  knife  did  he  draw, 
And  swore  that  himself  he  would  slaughter ; 
Then  jftmped  from  the  boat,  and  down  did  he  float 
To  the  bottom  with  Johnson's  big  daughter. 

Kiddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo,  &c. 


OUR  MARI  A*M. 

Sung  by  3Irs.  Barney  Williams,  with  immense  applause, 

throughout  the  United  States,  Great  Britain  and 

Ireland,  in  the  Farce  of  "  Our  Gal." 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  my  own  Mary  Ann, 

Fare  you  well  for  a  while ; 
The  ship  is  ready,  and  the  wind  is  fair, 

And  I  am  bound  for  the  sea,  Mary  Ann. 
Oh,  fare  you  well,  &e. 

Oh,  didn't  you  see  your  turtile  dove, 

A  sittin  on  yonder  pile, 
Lamenting  the  loss  of  his  own  true  love? 

And  so  am  I  for  my  Mary  Ann.. 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  &c. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  47 

A  lobster  in  a  lobster  pot, 

A  blue-fish  in  a  brook, 
May  suffer  some — but  you  know  not 

What  I  do  feel  for  my  Mary  4nn- 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  &c. 

The  pride  of  all  the  produce  ground, 

The  dinner  kitchen-garden  fruit, 
Is  pumpkins  some,  but  can't  compare, 

The  love  I  bear  for  my  Mary  Ann. 

Oh,  fare  you  well,  &c. 


Pi©©¥?§  WEDDING. 

Sung  xvith  great  applause,   by  Mr.  Barney  Williams. 

Shure  wont  you  hear 

What  roaring  cheer 
Was  spread  at  Paddy's  weddow,  0 ! 

And  how  so  gay 

They  spent  the  day, 
From  the  church  to  the  wedding,  0! 
First,  book  in  hand,  came  father  Quipes, 
With  the  bride's  dad,  the  Bailey,  0  ! 
While  ail  the  way  to  church,  the  pipes 
Struck  up  a  tune  so  gayly,  0 ! 

Then  there  was  Mat, 
And  sturdy  Pat, 
And  merry  Morgan  Murphy,  0  ! 
And  Murdock  Maggs, 
And  Tirlogh' Skaggs,  » 

Macloclan  and  Dick  Duffy,  0 ! 
And  thin  the  girls,  dressed  all  in  white, 
Led  on  by  Ted  O'Riley,  0 ! 
•p  All  jigging,  as  the  merry  pipes 
Struck  up  a  lilt  so  gayly,  0 1 

Whin  Pat  was  asked, 
Would  his  love  last  Y 


48  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

The  chancel  echoed  with  laughter,  0 ! 
Arrah,  fait',  cried  Pat, 
You  may  say  that, 
To  the  end  of  the  world,  and  after,  0 ! 
Thin  tenderly  \er  hand  he  gripes, 

And  kisses  her  genteely,  0 ! 

While  all  in  tune,  the  merry  pipes 

Struck  up  a  lilt  so  gayly,  0  ! 

Now  a  roaring  set 

At  dinner  are  met, 
So  frolicksome  and  so  frisky,  0 ! 

Potatoes  galore, 

A  skirrarg  or  more^, 
And  a  flowing  madder  of  whisky,  0  ! 
To  the  bride's  dear  health,  round  went  the  swipes, ' 

That  her  joys  might  be  daily  and  nightly,  01 
And  still,  as  they  drank,  the  merry  pipes 
Struck  up  a  lilt  so  gayly,  0 ! 

And  thin,  at  night, 

Oh,  what  delight, 
To  see  thim  all  footing  and  prancing,  0  ! 

An  Opera  or  Ball 

Were  nothing  at  all, 
Compared  to  the  style  of  their  dancing,  0  I 
And  thin  to  see  ould  father  Quipes 

Beat  time  wid  his  shelaly,  0  ! 
While  the  chanter  wid  thim  old  bagpipes, 
Kept  playing  a  tune  so  gayly,  0 ! 

And  now  the  knot 
So  tipsy  are  got, 
They'll  all  go  to  sleep  widout  rocking,  0  ! 
So  the  bridemaids  fair 
Now  gravely  prepare 
For  throwing  off  the  stocking,  0 ! 

And  round,  to  be  shure,  didn't  go  the  swipes, 
At  the  bride's  expense,  so  freely,  0 ! 
While,  to  wish  them  good  night,  the  merry  pipes 
Struck  up  a  tone  so  gayly,  0 1 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  -  49 

MOEAM  McSHAtfE. 
As  sung  by  B.   Williams,  with  great  applause. 

I've  left  Bally mornach  a  ipng  way  behind  me, 

To  better  my  fortune  I've  crossed  the  big  sea ; 
But  I'm  sadly  alone,  not  a  creature  to  mind  me, 

And  faith  I'm  as  wretched  as  wretched  can  be; 
I  think  of  the  buttermilk,   fresh  as  the  daisy, 

The  beautiful  halls  and  the  emerald  plain, 
And  ah !  don't  I  oftentimes  think  myself  crazy. 

About  that  black-eyed  rogue,  sweet  Norah  Mc- 
Shane. 

I  sigh  for  the  turf-pile  so  cheerfully  burning, 

When  barefoot  I  trudged  it  from  toiling  afar, 
When  I  tossed  in  the  light  the  thirteen  I'd  been 
earning, 

And  whistled  the  anthem  of  "Erin  Go  Bragh." 
In  truth,  I  believe  that  I'm  half  broken-hearted, 

To  my  country  and  love  I  must  get  back  again, 
For  I've  never  been  happy  at  all  since  I  parted 

From  sweet  Ballymornach  and  Norah  McShane. 

Oh !  there's  something  so  sweet  in  the  cot  I  was 
born  in, 

Though  the  walls  are  but  mud  and  the  roof  is 
but  thatch  ; 
How  familiar  the  grunt  of  the  pigs  in  the  mornin', 

What  music  in  lifting  the  rusty  old  latch  ; 
'Tis  true  I'd  no  money,  but  then  I'd  no  sorrow, 

My  pockets  were  light,  but  my  head  had  no  pain ; 
And  if  I  but  live  till  the  sun  shine  to-morrow, 

I'll  be  off  to  ould  Ireland  and  Norah  McShane. 


BiLLYGARREK. 

In  Ballygarren  I  was  born, 
Me  parents  reared  me  young  and  tender, 
In  a  nate  mud  cabin  we  lived  forlorn, 
Wid  two  holes  for  a  dure  and  winder. 

5 


50  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

CHORUS. 

Tow  Row  How, 

Listen  to  me  now, 

I'll  sing  while  I'm  in  good  humor, 

That's  just  now. 

We  had  too  nately  furnish'd  rooms, 
One  for  dad  and  mam  you  see, 
The  other  it  was  nately  fixed 
To  accommodate  the  pigs  and  me. 

CHORUS. 

One  winter's  morn  the  agints  came, 

The  snow  was  flying  thro'  the  air  like  feathers, 

Whin  augh  !  they  turn'd  us  out  of  doors, 

To  the  mercy  of  the  wintry  weather. 


Me  dad  and  mam  soon  died  of  grafe, 
And  left  me  all  alone  to  wander, 
Whin  I  was  forced  to  beg  from  dure  to  dure, 
Continted  wid  a  crust  or  bone,  sir. 


Augh!  but  I  wud  like  to  meet 
The  spalpeens  although  drest  so  gayly; 
Augh !   I'd  teach  thim  betther  manners — 
I'd  break  their  heads  wid  my  shillaly. 


I  have  a  swateheart  lives  close  by, 
Around  her  swate  self  I  must  hover; 
While  I'm  giving  you  me  blarney, 
She  may  get  another  lover. 


IRISH  SONGSTER,  51 

Fine  Ould  Irisii  €*£sitlettiaii. 

I'll  sing  you  a  fine  ould  Irish  song  made  by  an 
Irish  pate, 

About  a  rale  ould  Irish  gintleman,  who  had  the 
divil  a  taste  at  all  of  an  estate, 

Barrin'  a  patch  of  potatees  which  he  liked  exceed- 
ingly to  ate, 

For  they  were  to  him,  beef  an'  mutton  too,  and  with 
the  exception  of  a  red  herrin'  an'  a  rasher  of 
bacon  now  an'  then,  every  other  kind  of  mate, 

For  this  fine  ould  Irish  gintleman,  a  boy  of  the 
olden  time. 

The  walls  of  his  ould  cabin,  were  plastered  o'er 

wid  mud, 
Because  he  had  no  paper  hangings,   and  between 

you  an'  I,  he  wouldn't  give  a  d — n  for  them 

if  he  could. 
And  there  the  ould  chap  sate  in  state,  or  at  the 

door  he  stood, 
Wid  a  noggin  o'  whisky  in  his  fist,  an'  he  was  de- 
cidedly of  opinion  that  if  he'd  drink  it,  it  'ud 

do  him  a  mighty  dale  of  good — 
Och !  this  fine  ould  Irish  gintleman,  was  a  boy  of 

the  oulden  time. 

Now  this  ould  Irish  gintleman  wore  mighty  curious 
clothes, 

Tho*  for  comfort  I'll  go  bail  that  they'll  beat  any 
that's  worn  by  your  Chestnut  street  fashion- 
able beaus — • 

For  the  wind  through  his  ventilating  garments  so 
beautifully  blows, 

And  then  he  never  wears  no  shoes  upon  his  feet, 
because  he  despises  the  amiable  weakness  of 
wearing  such  a  hard  thing  as  leather  on  the 
toes, 

Och!  this  rare  ould  Irish  gintleman,  a  boy  of  the 
oulden  time. 


52  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Now  this  ould  Irish  gintleman*  once  got  upon  a  spree, 
An'  he  did  what  many  an  Irish  gintleman  has  done 

before  an'  will  do  again  to  the  ind  of  time, 

he  got  about  as  drunk  as  he  could  be, 
He  got  quite  whisky  bothered,   so    that  he  could 

neither  hear  nor  see. 
So  they  put  him  on  a  shutter  and  carried  him  home 

to  have  him  wak'd  and  buried  decently, 
Like  a  fine  ould  Irish  gintleman,  a  boy  of  the  oulden 

time. 

They  laid  him  out  so  beautiful   on   a  long  straw 

feather  bed, 
Wid  eight  or  ten  candles  round  his  feet,  and  sixteen 

or  eighteeen  dozen — more  or  less — about  his 

head, 
But  when  the  whisky  bottle  was  uncorked,  arrah, 

by  gob!  he  rose  right  up  in  bed, 
And  says  he,  while  such  mighty  fine  stuff  as  that  is 

flying  round,  do  you  think  I'm  such  a  cursed 

fool  as  to  lie  here  dead. 
Och,  this  fine   ould   Irish   gintleman,  was   mighty 

hard  to  kill. 


Since   Fve  been  in  tlie  Army. 

I'm   Paddy  Whack,  from   Bally-na-hack,  not  long 

ago  turn'd  soldier, 
In  grand  attack,  in  storm  or  sack,  none  will  than 

I  be  bolder ; 
Wid  spirits,  gay,  I  march   away,  I  plaze  each  fair 

beholder, 
The  ladies  cry,  as  me  they  spy,  Och  !  what  a  lovely 

soldier. 
Londonderry,    or  London  merry,  ye  ladies   all,  I'll 

charm  ye, 
An'  down  ye'll  come,  whin  I  bate  the  drum,  to  see 

me  in  the  army. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  53 

Wid   my   rub-a-dub    dub,  row  dow  dow,  I  live  dear 

girls  to  charm  ye, 
An*   down  ye'll  come,    whin  I  bate  the   drum,    to 

see  me  in  the  army. 

The  lots  of  girls   my  train  unfurls,  would  make  a 

dacent  party, 
There's    Katy   Lynch,  a  tidy  winch,  and  Peg  and 

Sue  McCarty, 
There's  Sally  Maggs,  and  Judy  Baggs,  and  Martha 

Scraggs  all  storm  me ; 
And  Molly  Magee,  she's  after  me,  since  I've  been  in 

the  army. 
The  Kittys  and  Dollys,  the  Bridgets  and  Pollys,  in 

numbers  would  alarm  ye ; 
Even  Mrs.  White,  that's  lost  her  sight,  admires  me 

in  the  army. 


PADDY'S  TRIP   TO   AMERICA. 

Sung  by  Barney  Williams,  in  the  Farce  of  "Paddy's 
—  Visit  to  America." 

I  left  my  native  shore  last  May, 

A  steamship  swept  me  through  the  ocean, 
0!"  mighty  hills  of  sae, 

Of  which,  dear  people,  you've  no  notion ; 
The  thunders  howl'd,  and  the  billows  rowl'd, 

The  storm  growl'd,  and  I  yowl'd  beside  them^ 
The  lightning  flashed,  the  engines  smashed. 

And  the  captain  swore  that  ill  betide  them. 

Spoken. — Och,  murther  avourneen,  that  was  the 
day  of  sorrow,  entirely.  I  thought  it  was  all  up 
wid  me — and  so  it  was ;  for,  conshumen  to  the  bit — 
bite  or  sup — I  let  down  me  for  seven  year  before, — 
that  didn't  come  up  galloping  and  making  its  escape 
as  if  a  Brigade  of  Police  was  shooting  and  prod- 
5* 


54  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

ding  it  before  them.  It  tuk  the  most  infernal 
canther  that  ever  was  seen — confound  me— but 
come  through  me  lek  an  express  thro'  a  country 
village  ;  in  that  miserable  misery  I  cried  out : — 

Och,  captain !  sez  I,  if  here  I  die, 
Curse  the  police  and  baliffs  ever ; 

For  one  day  they  drove  me  away, 

I'll  never  forgive  thim — -curse  thim  niver. 

Up  wint  the  ship — oh,  dear !  sez  I, 
Up  wint  my  accounts  that  very  minute, 
Then  down  to  — 11  or  very  nigh — 
I  thought,  by  gosh !  I  was  half-way  in  it ; 
The  big  waves  broke  out  our  mast  of  smoke. 
It  was  no  joke,  at  dead  of  night,  then, 
For  sails  and  riggin  both  danced  a  jig  in 
The  gale  beneath  the  moon's  dim  light,  thin. 

Spoken. — Och,  by  the  powers,  it  wor  the  divil's 
own  waddyde  bucketty,  sure  enough — one  moment 
we  wor  catching  mother  Carey's  chickens,  among 
tundher  and  lightning,  up  stairs  in  the  clouds,  and 
the  next  minute  our  poor  devoted  bark,  wor  dancing 
a  turnpike  on  the  back  of  a  whale,  as  large  as  the 
plains  of  Connamarrah  at  the  bottom  of  the  great 
deep — there's  no  use  in  talking — the  waves  bate 
Bannaher,  and  Bannaher  bate  the  Divil ;  and  our 
little  unfortunate  ship  bate  the  both  of  thim  lek  vin- 
geance.     In  this  miserable  misery  I  cried  out:- — 

Captain,  dear,  &e. 

The  Captain  cried — mate,  I  shouted — dhrink, 

The  ship  has  struck,  she'll  go  assundher, 

We  reel  upon  the  graves'  thin  brink, 

That  moment  our  cargo  was  bouits  of  tundher, 

The  engines  melted,  the  hailstones  pelted, 

And,  faith,  I  felt  it  dear,  mighty  quarely; 

The  vessel  parted,  and  so  I  started 

For  shore  on  my  stick  that  morning  airly. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  55 

Spoken. — Och,  milla  murther !  it  was  terrible  to 
hear  the  tundner  firing  away  as  if  there  was'nt  a 
targit  in  the  whole  world  for  it,  but  our  poor  ship 
bate  the  peeler's  shooting  all  to  pieces.  Bad 
scranned  to  the  bit,  dear  people ;  if  ye  wor  to  see 
me  hidin  in  the  chimney-way  lek  a  pickled  herrin. 
For  the  wind  blew  it  down,  but  you  would  pity  me 
above  all  things.  It  was  in  this  miserable  misery  I 
cried  out : — 

Captain,  dear,  &c. 

I  lay  quite  dead  upon  the  strand, 

The  good  Yankees  found  me,  lek  Gulliver,  long 

ago* 
Choked  wid  mud  and  dirty  sand  ; 
They  spooned  it  out  as  this  my  song  shows, 
I'm  now  quite  well,  but  cannot  tell, 
How  does  poor  Nell  I  loved  so  long  ago, 
But  more  I'll  write  to-morrow  night, 
And  I  will  sing  again — more — oh  ! 

Spoken. — Dead  as  a  door-nail,  as  I  was  begotten 
and  born  in  the  deep  ocean,  and  my  mouth  was  as 
full  of  mud  and  san^  as  it  used  to  be  wid  praties 
and  buthermilk  long  ago,  and  every  bit  of  life 
smothered  in  me,  lying,  lek  a  hake  on  the  shore, 
burning  undher  the  'meriken  sun — firing  to  the  bit 
of  me  knew  where  I  was  till  a  batch  of  live  Yankees, 
came  across  me  and  tuk  me,  forninst  a  magerstrate, 
to  give  an  account  of  myself.  Och,  the  divil  a 
haporth  I  could  tell  him,  because  of  the  stuffin  I 
had  in  me.  And  in  this  miserable  misery  I  cried 
out : — 

Captain,  dear,  &c. 


I 


MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 


MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS,  AS  LOVELY  NANCE,  IN 
"  OUT  OF  PLACE." 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  57 

WIDOW  MACMREE. 

Widow  Machree,  it's  no  wonder  you  frown, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree ! 
Faith,  it  ruins  your  looks,  that  same  dirty  black  gown, 

Och,  hone !   widow  Machree. 
How  altered  your  hair  with  that  close  cap  you  wear, 
'Tis  destroying  your  hair,  which  should  be  flowingfree, 
Be  no  longer  a  churl  with  its  black  silken  curl, 

Och,  hone !  widow  Machree. 

Widow  Machree,  now  the  summer  is  coming, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree  ! 
When  every  thing  smiles  should  a  body  look  grim, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree. 
See  the  birds  go  in  pairs,  the  rabbits  and  hares, 
Why  even  the  bears  now  in  couples  agree, 
And  the  mute  little  fish,  though  they  can't  spake, 
they  wish, 

Och,  hone !  widow  Machree 

Widow  5VIachree,  and  when  winter  comes  in, 

Och,  hone!  widow  Machree! 
To  be  poking  the  fire  all  alone  is  a  sin, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree ! 
Why  the  shovel  and  tongs,  to  each  other  belongs, 
And  the  kettle  sings  songs  full  of  family  glee, 
While  alone  with  your  cup,  like  a  hermit  you  sup, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree. 

And  how  do  you  know,  with  the  comforts  I've  told, 

.  Och,  hone !  widow  Machree  ! 
But  you're  keeping  some  poor  fellow  out  in  the  cold, 

Och,  hone!  widow  Machree! 

With  such  sins  on  your  head,  you're  peace  'ud  be  fled, 

Could  you  sleep  in  your  bed  without  thinking  to  see 

Some  ghost  or  some  spirit,  that  'ud  wake  you  each 

night, 

Crying  "Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree! 


58  MR.   AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WJLLIAMS' 

Then  take  my  advice,  darling  widow  Macbree, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Macbree  ! 
And  with  my  advice,  faith,  I  wish  you'd  take  me, 

Och,  hone !  widow  Machree  ! 
You'd  have  me  desire,  then  stir  up  the  fire, 
And  sure  hope  is  no  liar  in  whispering  to  me, 
That  ghost  'ud  depart,  when  you've  me  near  your 
heart, 

Och,  hone !  widow  Machree  ! 

Widow  Machree,  I  don't  wish  to  be  bold, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree  ! 
But  with  these  inducements  that  I  have  just  told, 

Och,  hone  !  widow  Machree  ! 
I  give  you  my  word,  my  own,  my  adored, 
And  as  a  reward,  take  this  promise  from  me, 
To  atone  for  my  sins,  your  first  child  shall  be  twins, 

Och,  hone !  widow  Machree  ! 


SPRIG  OF  SHILLEIjAH. 

Sung  with  great  applause,   by  Mr.  Barney  Williams. 

Och,  love  is  the  soul  of  a  neat  Irishman  ; 

He  loves  all  that  is  lovely,  loves  all  that  he  can, 

With  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 
His  heart  is  good-humored,  'tis  honest  and  sound, 
No  malice  or  hatred  is  there  to  be  found  ; 
He  courts  and  he  marries,  he  drinks  and  he  fights 
For  love — all  for  love — for  in  that  he  delights, 

With  his  sprig  of  shillelah,  and  shamrock  so  green. 

Who  has  e'er  had  the  luck  to  see  Donnybrook  fair? 
An  Irishman  all  in  his  glory  is  there, 

With  his  sprig  of  shillelah,  and  shamrock  so  green  ; 
His  clothes  spick  and  span  new,  without  e'er  a  speck, 
A  neat  Barcelona  tied  round  his  neck; 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  59 

He  goes  to  Lis  tent,  and  spends  his  half-crown, 
He  meets  with  a  friend,  who  for  love  knocks  him 
down, 
With  his  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 

At  evening  returning,  as  homeward  he  goes, 

His  heart  soft  with  whisky,  his  head  soft  with  blows, 

From  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 
He  meets  with  his  Shelah,  who,  blushing  a  smile, 
Cries,    "Get  you  gone,  Pat!"  yet  consents  all  the 

while. 
To  the  priest  soon  they  go,  and  nine  months  after 

that, 
A  fine  baby  cries,  "  How  d'ye  do,  Father  Pat?" 

With  your  sprig  of  shillelah  and^hamrock  so  green. 

"Bless  the  country!"  says  I,   "that   gave  Patrick 

his  birth, 
Bless  the  land  of  the  oak,  and  it's  neighboring  earth, 
Where  grows  the  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green. 
May  the  sons   of  the  Thames,  the  Tweed,  and  the 

Shannon, 
Thrash  the  sons  that  would  plant  on  their  confines 

a  cannon. 
United  and  happy,  at  liberty's  shrine, 
May  the  rose  and  the  thistle  long  flourish  and  twine 
Round  a  sprig  of  shillelah  and  shamrock  so  green." 


E1TIILEEI  MAVOUEIEEK. 
Sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 

Kathleen  Mavourneen !  the  gay  dawn  is  breaking, 

The  horn  of  the  hunter  is  heard  on  the  hill ; 
The  lark  from  her  light  wing  the  .bright  dew   is 

shaking, 
Kathleen  Mavourneen,  what,  slumbering  still! 
Ah  !  hast  thou  forgotten  soon  we  must  sever  ? 


60  MR.  AND  MRS.   BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Oh !  hast  thou  forgotten  this  day  we  must  part  ? 

It  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever, 
Oh !  why  art  thou  silent,  thou  voice  of  my  heart  ? 

It  may  be  for  years  and  it  may  be  forever, 
Then  why  art  thou  silent,  Kathleen  Mavourneen  ? 

Kathleen  Mavourneen  !  awake  from  thy  slumbers, 
The  blue  mountains  glow  in  the  sun's  golden  light; 

Ah !    where  is  the  spell    that   once   hung   on   thy 
numbers  ?  ' 

Arise  in  thy  beauty,  thou  star  of  my  night. 
Arise  in  thy  beauty,  thou  star  of  my  night. 

Mavourneen,  Mavourneen,  my  sad  tears  are  falling, 
To  think  that  from  Erin  and  thee  I  must  part, 

It  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever, 

Then  why  art  thou  silent,  thou  voice  of  my  heart; 

It  may  be  for  years,  and  it  may  be  forever, 

Then  why  art  thou  silent,  Kathleen  Mavourneen  ? 


THE  QUII/FIffG  PARTY. 

Sung  by  Mrs.  Barney  Williams. 

'Twas  down  at  Major  Parsons'  house, 

The  gals  they  had  a  quiltin', 
Just  for  to  show  their  handsome  looks, 

And  have  a  little  jiltin\ 

CHORUS. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U- 

niversal  airth  bewitching 
They're  good  and  true,  and  handsome  tu, 

In  parlor  and  in  kitchen. 

There  was  Deacon  Jones'  darter  Sal, 
Squire  Wheeler's  darter  Mary, 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  61 

And  General  Carter's  youngest  gal, 
That  looks  just  like  a  fairy. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 


There  was  Lucy  White  and  Martha  Brown, 

And  Parsons'  darter  Betty, 
Femimo  Pinkhorn,  Prudence  Short, 

And  Major  Downing's  Hetty. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  IT,  &c. 

But  if  there  was  a  handsome  gal, 
To  make  a  fellar's  heart  right, 

I  guess  it  was,  by  all  accounts, 
Miss  Carolina  Cartwright. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 

Wal,  as  they  were  a-whirlin'  plate, 

And  playin'  hunt  the  slipper, 
Jerusha  Parsons  went  to  git 

Some  cider  in  a  dipper. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 

But  just  as  she  had  left  the  room, 

And  got  inter  the  entry, 
She  give  a  scream  and  stood  stock-still, 

Just  like  a  frozen  sentry. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 

We  all  ran  out,  and  there,  I  swow, 

Both  huggin'  like  creation, 
Miss  Cartwright  and  Sam  Jones  we  saw, 

A  kissin'  like  tarnation. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 


62  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

Oh,  such  a  laugh  as  we  sot  up, 

You  never  heerd  a  finer, 
Says  I,  "I  reckon  kissin's  cheap, 

Don't  you,  Miss  Carolina  ?" 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 

I  wish  you'd  saw  Miss  Cartwright  blush, 
Jest  like  as  if  she'd  painted, 

She  said — she  had  the  colic— and 
In  Samuel's  arms  had  fainted. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 

And  now,  young  gals,  I'd  say  to  you, 

When  you  go  tu  a  frolic, 
Don't  let  the  fellars  kiss  and  hug, 

Unless — you  have  the  colic. 

Yankee  lasses  are  the  U,  &c. 


Don't  you  Cry  so,  Itforali,  Darling. 

Copied  by  permission  of  Firth,  Pond  &  Co,  547  Broadway, 
owners  of  the  Copyright. 

Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Wipe  those  tears  away, 
Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Smile  on  me  to-day ; 
See  the  wind  is  freshly  blowing, 

And  the  ship  longs  for  the  sea, 
Be  to-day  your  smiles  bestowing, 

Sweetly,  love,  on  me. 

CHOEUS. 

Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Wipe  those  tears  away  ; 
Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Smile  on  me  to-day. 


IRISH  SONGSTER. 

Though  'tis  sad  to  leave  you,  darling, 

I  must  no  .more  stay, 
Think  of  me,  Norina,  darling, 

When  I'm  far  away; 
And,  although  to  part  brings  sadness, 

Keep  your  young  heart  light  and  free, 
Your  sweet  face  adorn  with  gladness, 

Thinking  still  of  me. 

Don't  you  cry  so,  &c. 

Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Wipe  those  tears  away, 
Don't  you  cry  so,  Norah,  darling, 

Smile  on  me  to-day ; 
When  from  work  I  rest,  a-weary, 

All  my  thoughts  on  you  will  be, 
And  my  life  will  not  seem  dreary, 

If  you're  true  to  me. 

Don't  you  cry  so,  &c. 


MR.  McFIHTAGAJf. 

I'm  a  dacent  laboring  youth, 

I  wur  born  in  the  town  of  Dunshocaklin, 
I'm  a  widower  now  in  my  youth, 

Since  I  buried  swate  Molly  McLaughlin. 
I  wur  married  but  once  in  my  life, 

Shure  I'll  never  commit  such  a  sin  again, 
For  I  found  out  when  she  wur  my  wife, 

She  wur  fond  of  one  Barny  McFinagan. 

CHORUS. 

Whack  fil  lil  Ian  ta  ra  le, 

Whack  fil  lil  Ian  tar  a  ladday  de, 

Whack  fil  lil  Ian  ta  ra  le, 
With  a  ri  tol  lol  lol  dil  de  de  de  de. 


64  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

Her  father  had  castles  of  mud, 

Of  which  I  wur  fond  of  admiring, 
They  wur  built  in  the  time  of  the  flood, 

For  to  keep  her  .ancestors  dry  in. 
When  he  found  I  had  Molly  bespoke, 

First  he  got  fat  and  then  he  got  thin  again, 
In  the  struggle,  his  gizzard  he  broke, 

And  we  had  a  corpse  of  McFinagan. 

For  convainance,  the  corpse  was  put 

Along  with  his  friends  in  the  barn  shure, 
While  some  came  to  it  on  foot, 

While  others  came  down  from  Dunagrinshore, 
My  wife  she  cried  and  she  sobbed, 

I  chucked  her  out  twice  and  she  got  in  again, 
I  gave  her  a  belt  in  the  gob, 

When  I  wur  knocked  down  by  McFinagan. 

The  bed  and  the  corpse  was  upset, 

The  row  it  commenced  in  a  minute  shure, 
Divil  a  bit  of  a  stick  had  I  got, 

Till  they  broke  all  the  legs  of  the  furniture. 
In  faith  as  the  blood  flew  about, 

Eyes  were  shoved  out  and  shoved  in  agin, 
I  got  a  south-western  clout, 

Which  knocked  me  on  top  of  poor  Finagan. 

How  long  I  was  dead  I  don't  know, 

But  this  I  know,  I  wasn't  livin'  shure, 
I  awoke  wid  a  pain  in  my  toe, 

For  they  were  both  tied  wid  a  ribben  shure. 
I  opened  my  mouth  for  to  spake, 

The  shate  was  rolled  up  to  my  chin,  again ; 
Och,  Molly,  says  I,  I'm  awake ; 

Oh,  says  she,  you'll  be  buried  wid  Finagan. 

I  opened  my  eyes  for  to  see — 

I  strove  to  get  up  to  knock  her  about — 

I  found  that  my  two  toes  were  tied, 

Like  a  spoon  in  a  pot  of  thick  stirabout. 


IRISH  SONGSTER. 


65 


But  I  soon  got  the  use  of  my  toes, 

By  a  friend  of  the  corpse,  Larry  Gilligan, 

Who  helped  me  to  get  into  my  clothes, 
For  to  spread  a  grass  quilt  oyer  Finagan. 

Och.  my  she  devil  came  home  from  the  spree, 

Full  of  whisky  and  ripe  from  the  buryin'  shure, 
And  she  showed  as  much  mercy  to  me, 

As  a  hungry  man  shows  a  red  herein'  shure. 
One  billy-go-fister  I  gave, 

Which  caused  her  to  grunt  and  to  grin  again, 
In  six  months  I  opened  the  grave, 

And  slapp'd  her  on  the  bones  of  Finagan. 

It's  now  that  I'm  single  again, 

I'll  spend  my  time  rakin'  and  batterin*, 
I'll  go  to  the  fair  wid  the  men,  and 

Dance  wid  the  girls  for  a  patterin, 
They'll  swear  that  I'm  stuck  to  a  lee, 

And  as  they  say  to  catch  him  agin, 
But  they'll  not  come  the  cuckle  o'er  me, 

For  they  might  be  related  to  Finagan. 


KITTY  O'ROURKJE. 

WORDS    BY    G.  W.   ANDERSON. 

Kind  friends,  unto  me  will  you  listen, 

While  a  story  to  you  I'll  relate, 
That  happened  one  night  in  the  kitchen, 

While  I  was  courting  Miss  Kate? 
I  was  talking  all  kinds  of  love  matter, 

Divil  a  word  of  bad  English  I  spoke, 
Until  Kitty  she  commenced  her  clatter, 

Which  soon  put  an  end  to  the  joke. 
6* 


66  MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS* 

CHORUS. 

Och  !  it's  I'm  the  boy  of  the  village, 
Always  ready  to  laugh  at  a  jol^, 

But  bad  luck  to  the  one  who  would  trouble 
My  dear  Miss  Kitty  O'Rourke. 

So  cosy  we  both  sat  together, 

That  me  mouth  it  did  itch  for  a  smack  ; 
Arrah,  Kitty,  says  I,  will  ye  kiss  me  ? 

Arrah,  Barney,  says  she,  houldyour  clack. 
Says  I,  Kitty  O'Rourke,  I  do  love  you  ; 

Says  she,  Barney  dear,  now  don't  you  lie; 
Oh !  I  am  spaking  the  truth  now,  dear  Kitty, 

If  it  wasn't  for  you  shure  I'd  die. 

Och!  it's  I'm  the  boy,  &c. 


Her  looks  pierced  my  heart  like  an  arrow; 

Divil  a  word  for  my  soul  could  I  spake. 
Arrah,  Barney,  says  Kate,  vot's  the  matter? 

Says  I,  I  have  got  the  heart  ache. 
Says  she,  Come,  thin,  and  let  us  get  married 

Be  Father  McMahon,  says  she, 
For  he's  the  best  man  in  the  village 

To  tie  up  a  couple  like  we. 

Och!  it's  I'm  the  boy,  &c. 


So  off  to  the  parish  we  wandered, 

Not  a  minute  or  moment  we  lost; 
Then  Father  McMahon  he  bound  us ; 

Says  I, — Now,  then,  what  is  the  cost? 
Four  pounds,  three  shillings,  and  sixpence, 

Says  he,  is  my  usual  fee  ; 
Then,  be  gobs,  says  I,  Father  McMahon, 

It's  you  nor  I  then  wont  agree. 

Och !  it's  I'm  the  boy,  &c. 


IRISH  SONGSTER.  67 

So  out  Kitty  and  I  was  a~marching, 

Whin  Father  McMahon,  for  spite, 
Threw  a  poker,  which  hit  my  dear  Kitty, 

And  thin  he  began  to  show  fight. 
Says  I,   Father  McMahon,  be  aisy, 

And  wid  your  consent,  we'll  agree, 
That  the  next  time  that  I  do  get  married, 

I'll  pay  you  your  usual  fee. 

Och!  it's  I'm  the  boy,  &c. 


THE  ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THIS   BOOK 

ARE 

ENGRAVED  ON  WOOD, 

BY 

NOBLE  &  NAGLE, 

FROM 

PHOTOGRAPHS, 

TAKEN  BY 

DINMORE  &  CO., 

No.  730  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILA. 


CONTENTS 

OF 

MR.  AND  MRS.  BARNEY  WILLIAMS' 

IRISH  SONGSTER. 


Seven  "Ages  of  an  Irishman," 

The  Wife  That  Can't  be  Beat, 

Irish  Kate  of  California, 

The  Tickler,  .... 

Aunt  Jemima's  Quiltin,    . 

Independence  Day, 

Cruiskeen  Lawn,      .... 

Unsparkable  Sarah  Snubbins, 

Barney  Williams'  Every  Day  Facts, 

"Played  Out,"      .... 

Bobbin  Around,        .... 

I'll  Hang  my  Harp  on  a  Willow  Tree, 

The  Man  that  Travels  on  his  Shape, 

Cornstalk  Sal, 

The  Ranting,  Roaring  Irishman, 

Rory  O'More,        .... 

The  Bold  Privateer, 

Low-Backed  Car, 

Old  Ireland's  Day  is  Breaking, 

Ye  Factory  Maid  and  Ye  Over-yer-seer, 

Bryan  O'Lynn.  .... 

My  Heart's  in  Old  Ireland?, 

Trust  to  Luck, 

You're  Going  to  the  Wars,     . 

Flaming  O'Flannagans,     . 

Billy  O'Rourke,  .... 


7 
8 
9 
10 
13 
15 
16 
17 
20 
21 
22 
25 
26 
27 
29 
30 
32 
32 
34 
35 
36 
37 
38 
39 
40 
43 


CONTENTS. 


Sal  Sling,         .... 

Riddle  Cum  Dinky  Doo, 

Our  Mary  Ann, 

Paddy's  Wedding,     . 

Norah  MeShane,  . 

Ballygarren,     .... 

Fine  Ould  Irish  Gintleman,   . 

Since  I've  been  in  the  Army,     . 

Paddy's  Trip  to  America, 

Widow  Machree, 

Sprig  of  Shillelah, 

Kathleen  Mavourneen, 

The  Quilting  Party,       . 

Don't  You  Cry  so,  Norah,  Darling, 

Mr.  McFinagan,    . 

Kitty  O'Rourke,       . 


44 
45 
46 
47 
49 
49 
51 
52 
53 
57 
58 
59 
60 
62 
63 
65 


CONTENTS  OF  MEY'S  ESSENCE  OF  BURNT  CORK. 


Biographical  Sketch  of  E.  F.  Dixey                 -  -             5 
Boy  with  the  Auburn  Hair,  -----       9 

Turkey, 10 

Year  of  '59,            -           -           ...           -  -      12 

'Possums,    -           -           -           -           -           -  -           13 

My  Johnny  was  a  Shoemaker,        -          -          -  -     15 

War,  -           -           -      -     -      -     -           -           -  -           16 

Happy  Moments,        -           -           -         -  -           -  -      18 

The  Army,  -           -           -           -           -           -  -           18 

What  She  Left  Me,  and  The  Treat,            -          -  -     19 

Cottage  by  the  Sea,           -           -           -           -  -           20 

Ringing  in  de  Head,  and  The  Mystery,    -  '     -     22 

Ever  oFThee,         -           -           -           -  '        .  -           23 

The  Moving,    - -     24 

Napolitaine,            -                      -           -           -  -           25 

Store  Clerk,      -  -      " 25 

The  Bible,  -           -           ...           -  -           26 

Folks  that  put  on  Airs,         -                     .-           -  -     28 

Fine  Dogs,-           -           -           -           -   '  -           29. 

That  Horse,     -           -                       -                      -  -     30 

Crow  out,  Shanghai,         -           -.           -           -  -           31 

Manayunk,        -           -                   '    -           -           -  -     32 

Washington,           -           -           -           -  -           33 

Johnny  is  Gone  for  a  Soldier,          -           -           -  -     34 

Necessary  Consequences,           -           -  36; 

Bonny  Eloise,  the  Belle  of  the  Mohawk  Vale,    -  -     37 

Spirit-rapping,        -           -           -           -                  •  -           38  . 

Business,         -           -           -           -            -  -     38 

On  the  Road  to  Brighton,          -  39 

That  Butter, -     40 

Why  do  Summer  Roses  Fade?  -  41 

How  he  Caught  the  Girl  at  the  Party,       -          -  -41 

When  I  Saw  Sweet  Nellie  Home,          -           -  -           44 

A  Cure  for  Rats,          -           -           -           -           -  -     45 

Nettie  Moore,         ------  47 

Working  on  a  Farm,   -           -           -           -           -  -    48 

What  is  Love  ?                   -           -           -           -  -           49 

Oh,  Gently  Breathe, 49 

The  Little  Bee,                                       >           -  -           50 

The  Dogs'-Meat  Man,            -           -           -           -  -     52 

Who  Does  the  Things  Belong  To?       -         ,.  -  54 

Dixey's  Land,  -           -           -           -           -           -  -66 

Eggs  Hatch  Niggers,       -----  58 

Fairy  Belle, -  -     61 

My  Horse  Over  the  Fence,        -          -          -  62 

Take  Care  of  Number  One,  -          -          -          -  -     64 

How  He  Got  the  Pants,               -   ■        -           -  -           66 

Happy  Be  Thy  Dreams,       -           -           -           -  -     68 

The  Rail  Road  Accident,          -           -        •-.  -           68 

Murdered,       -           -                      -      '     -           -  -     TO 

TEftking  the  Rope,            -  71 


CONTENTS  OF 

CARNCROSS  AND  SHARPLEY'S 
MINSTREL  MEIiODIES. 


Page. 

Biographical  Sketch  of  Samuel  S.  Sharpley,        -  -     5 

In  the  Louisiana  Lowlands,  7 

The  Day  our  Mother  Died,     -           -           -           -  -      8 

Female  Smuggular,           -----  9 

I  Dream  of  My  Home,          -.          -          -          -  -    10 

We  Meet  Again,       -                                           -          -  11 

The  Mississippi  Shore,           -          -          -          -  -    12 

Reply  to  Lilly  Dale,  12 

Billy;  Barlow,      -          -          -          -          -          -  -    13 

Carrie  Lee,    -  -  -  -  -  -  -14 

The  Grocery  Merchant,          -          -          -          -  -    15 

Shaving-Soap  Man,  ------  17 

The  Lovyers  of  Manayunk  Town,  -          -          -  -    19 

Who  Heel  Dat  A-burning;  20 

The  Irishman's  Shanty,          -          -          -          -  -    24 

T&e  Pea-Nut  Girl,    - 25 

Who  Struck  Billy  Patterson?           -..-_.  -    26 

Musha  Ding  Di  Yah, 28 

Niggar  in  de  Tent,  Kick  Him  Out,             -          -  -    29 

Farewell,  Cora  Lee,            ...          -          -  30 

I  'aint  got  Time  to  Tarry,      -          -          -          -  -31 

Smiggy  McGlural,  ------  32 

Masquerade  Waltz,      -                                             -  -    33 

The  Wife's  Dream, 34 

McDill  Darrell,             -           -           -           -           -  -    35 

Deal  With  Me  Kindly, 38 

Joe  Bowers,       -          -          -          -          -          -  -38 

Run,  Nigger,  Run,             -          -          -          -          -  .     40 

A  Dollar  or  Two,           -          -          -          -    '  -42 

Dat  Gets  Ahead  of  Me, 43 

Jing  Jang,          -           -          -          -          -          -  -46 

De-Cake's  All  Dough, 47 

Machine  Poetry,          -          -          -          -          -  -    48 

Paraphrase  on  the  Old  Folks  at  Home,           -          -  50 

I've  Wandered  by  the  Hut  Side,      -           -           -  -    51 

Old  Play  Ground, &2 

Good  Bargain,             -          -          -          -          -  -■  .ff 

Darling  Nelly  Gray, s* 

Curiosities,        -          -          -          -          -          -  *  M. 

Large  Legacy,     -          -          -             -          -          "  S 

Calves  Meat,      -          -          -          -    .  *    -          -  -&» 

Slap-Jacks  and  Hominy,   -.-.--«  ,-'Jj 

Sailing,  - 60 

Fast  Running,        ------  62 

Rules  of  our  Kew  Boarding  House,           -     .     -    _  -    65 


